


Against Wind and Tide

by SeaLullaby



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Elizabeth gets a protective sister, F/M, If an atypical one, Jack gets another friend, James Norrington deserved better, OC is a pirate, Slow Burn, So I'm giving it to him, Some angst of course, Torn between two worlds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27011323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaLullaby/pseuds/SeaLullaby
Summary: In which James Norrington discovers that not all pirates all filthy savages. In fact, some of them are the exact opposite. Well, one of them is, at least. And she'll make his life a lot more complicated. Then again, nothing really worth having ever comes easily.
Relationships: Elizabeth Swann/Will Turner, James Norrington/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	1. Mr. and Mrs. Smith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome, everyone! I've had this story going round my head for months now, and I've finally decided to start writing it. I've got a couple of IMPORTANT things to tell you before I let you enjoy it, though. Please, READ THEM. Thank you.
> 
> Firstly, in this story, the Pirate Lord of the Atlantic isn't Jocard. Just so you know.  
> Secondly, don't expect James to fall in love with my OC during the Curse of the Black Pearl part. It's going to be a slow burn. Don't worry, though, I've got big plans for the interval between CotBP and Dead Man's Chest *evil snicker*.  
> And thirdly, before you start reading, you should know that the word Brine-Tongue is an invention of mine, so don't bother looking it up on the internet. You'll come to understand what it means as the story unfolds.  
> I apologize for any mistakes I might have made. English isn't my native tongue, I'm afraid.
> 
> Disclaimer, which I'm not going to repeat: I don't own the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise, only my OCs and my own additions to the plot.
> 
> Okay, I think that's it. Let's see what you guys think...

"And once again, Jack's cheap scams come back to bite us," Isabella muttered under her breath as she vindictively threw another bucketful of seawater overboard.

She had no doubt that either Scarlett or Giselle was responsible for their current predicament. The two wenches might have been naïve enough to believe that Jack had truly intended to marry them but, obviously, one of them had had the presence of mind to make sure he wouldn't run for the hills, or rather the waves, before their supposed wedding. If Isabella had to guess, she'd say that the culprit had removed a few of the nails that held the _Jolly Mon_ together, hence the seawater slowly but steadily filling the small fishing dory. At this rate, they'd soon have to swim to Port Royal. _That's what you get for underestimating a woman_ , the Italian pirate thought with a twinge of grim satisfaction.

"Did you say something?" Jack called out from his perch on the tiny crow's nest.

Isabella paused her work to glower at the infamous pirate whom she had the dubious pleasure of calling her friend.

"I said, stop pretending you're sailing a three-master, get down here, and help me bail out the damn boat."

"With what? There's only one bucket."

"Then use your hat."

Jack looked at her as if she'd suggested he quit drinking rum, to which she rolled her eyes.

"Do it, Sparrow, or I'll throw the next bucketfuls at you until you move your arse," she growled.

Jack grumbled but, knowing full well that his friend wouldn't hesitate to carry out her threat, he complied. In the end, however, their combined efforts weren't enough to spare them a particularly incongruous entrance into Port Royal harbour. The hull of the boat had disappeared underwater a few minutes before, forcing the pair to perch atop the mast, which was now cutting its merry way through the water towards the docks. Needless to say, they drew many a befuddled stare. Despite their absurd situation, the two pirates stood tall, their faces set in an air of dignified indifference. Nothing in Isabella's expression betrayed the fact that she was busy clobbering her pride so it would stop railing against the humiliation that she, Isabella Sforza, Brine-Tongue, rightful Pirate Lord of the Atlantic Ocean and captain of the _Danse Macabre_ , descendant of a two-century-long line of pirates, was forced to endure because of Jack. _Shut up, you_ , she snapped internally. _Firstly, nobody here knows me. Secondly, if not for Jack, I would have died five years ago, so this is a small price to pay. And thirdly, I lost all rights to demand the respect that comes with the Sforza name the moment I chose to disappear rather than ensuring Valerio wouldn't sully it further._ At the thought of her twin brother's name, something twisted painfully in her chest and, deep in her mind, a blood-red door opened a crack. She had to slam it shut before memories started pouring out like a flow of black icy water.

The hull of the boat scraped the seafloor noisily, snapping Isabella out of her gloomy train of thought right when the pitiful excuse for a crow's nest bumped against the wooden dock. The two pirates only had to step off the mast as they would go down the last step of a staircase, which they did with perfect assurance, as if everything was completely normal.

"I assume you're planning to commandeer a ship?" Isabella enquired as they strode—or, in Jack's case, swaggered—up the wharf, passing a pinched-faced bespectacled man carrying a thick ledger under his arm and accompanied by a dark-skinned boy.

Jack opened his mouth to answer but he was interrupted by the aforementioned man, whom Isabella suspected to be the harbourmaster.

"Hey! Hold up, there, you two!" the man called out irritably, forcing them to come to a halt before they could get lost in the crowd.

"Not even a minute ashore and there's already someone to bribe," Isabella muttered with a wry smile, earning herself an amused snort from Jack.

"It's a shilling to tie up your boat at the dock," the harbourmaster informed them when they came up to him.

Four pairs of eyes converged on the bit of mast that poked out of the water. Isabella resisted the urge to point out that, technically, the boat wasn't tied up and, instead, considered how much she could afford to pay. She hoped that the man wasn't one of those rare and strange creatures of which she had only heard stories—uncorruptible government officials.

"And I shall need to know your names."

Jack plunged a hand into his coat pocket just as Isabella pulled a small coin purse out of hers.

"What do ya say to three shillings?" Jack offered, placing three silver coins on the pages of the open ledger.

"Each," Isabella added, following suit.

"And we forget the names."

The avid glint that lit up the harbourmaster's eyes was impossible to miss. No, he most certainly wasn't incorruptible, and he finished proving it when he snapped his ledger closed, trapping the six coins between its pages.

"Welcome to Port Royal, Mr. and Mrs. Smith," he said good-naturedly before walking away.

Unfortunately for him, he had forgotten his coin purse on his lectern at the other end of the dock and Jack took it upon himself to rescue it from abandonment, though not without giving it an appraising shake first.

"Want to go halfsies?" he asked with a gold-teethed grin, dangling the purse in front of his friend's face.

"You keep it, amico mio," the Italian woman declined as she pulled him after her, lest the harbourmaster spotted them. "I've got enough."

"Course you do, ya bloody aristocrat," Jack groused, his tone belied by his lopsided smile. "Well, more coins for me."

"Please, an aristocrat would never have said no to extra money. Now, shall we go and take a closer look at all those nice ships, Mr. Smith?"

Jack gave Isabella a sly grin and slung an arm around her shoulders, a liberty that she allowed because she had made sure years ago that he knew exactly which limits not to cross. Jack had long since resigned himself to the fact that she wouldn't succomb to his—questionable—charms. While that didn't deter him from flirting with her, it was meant as harmless teasing that made her laugh and let her exercise her sharp wit.

"We certainly shall, Mrs. Smith."

Apparently, Jack had already a destination in mind because he led her through the busy harbour without hesitation. Under the hot morning sun, amid a clamour of shouts and creaking ropes and seagull cries, they wove through the swarm of workers and sailors, dodging piles of crates and sacks waiting to be loaded onto the ships, breathing in the smells of brine and sweat. Isabella didn't need to ask how Jack knew where he was going. Some two years before, he had told her about Barbossa's mutiny, his marooning, and his subsequent rescue by rumrunners, who had agreed to take him to Port Royal. It wasn't a story he shared readily, for obvious reasons, but, after now five years of travelling and pirating in her company, he trusted Isabella more than he did anyone else. That, and she was in an especially good position to understand treachery. In fact, one might even argue that she had had it much worse—not even Jack could hope to comprehend what it felt like to be betrayed by one's own wombmate.

It took them almost twenty minutes to finally escape the throng. They had come to the periphery of the harbour, near the beach, where stood the larger, sturdier docks at which the Royal Navy ships were moored. In the relative quiet, they could hear strains of music drifting down from Fort Charles, the stronghold squatting atop the bluff that overlooked the harbour. Isabella wondered what the Port Royal aristocracy was celebrating—some official ceremony in honour of a military man, most likely, or the party would have been taking place in someone's mansion. Her musings ground to a swift halt when she realized that Jack was steering her towards a beautiful sleek brig that reminded her painfully of the _Trickster's Fate_ , the brig that her parents had gifted her with, named in honour of Loki, the Norse god of mischief. She had sailed it around the world for three amazing years, and now, its wreck was lying somewhere at the bottom of the Caribbean Sea.

"Dio mio, Jack!" she hissed. "Don't tell me you want to steal a Navy ship! Sei impazzito? They'll chase us across the Seven Seas to get it back!"

"If we plan this right, we'll have it repainted and rechristened before they even start giving chase," her friend argued without slowing down.

The two pirates strode down a ramp that led to the lower level of the dock, the heels of their boots clacking against the dark wooden planks.

"We'd have to sabotage all the other Navy ships first," Isabella pointed out quietly. "And find a way to distract the sentinels. We can't–"

She broke off when a pair of marines scrambled from a corner of the pier to bar their way, their faces set in their best approximation of professional impassiveness and their rifles on display.

"This dock is off-limits to civilians," the one on the right, who was almost comically thinner than his comrade, declared sternly.

"I'm terribly sorry, we didn't know," Jack replied without missing a beat. "If we see one, we shall inform you immediately."

With these words, he tried to continue on his way, only to be immediately thwarted when the marines once again planted themselves firmly in front of him, while Isabella observed the scene with undisguised amusement. She hadn't bothered to move—the two guards didn't look too bright but she didn't expect them to be that profoundly stupid.

"So, do you know what's going on up at the fort?" she chimed in, stepping up to Jack.

Her charming smile and the emphasis she'd put on her slight Italian accent proved as effective as usual—the marines' postures relaxed a smidge and, although they didn't smile back, their faces recovered some of their expressiveness. _Englishmen and their taste for exoticism... They never let me down._ She wasn't quite sure where she was going with that line of enquiry but, since she and Jack were obviously not going any further right now, she might as well satisfy her curiosity.

"Oh, it's Captain Norrington's promotion ceremony," the stockier guard said, his voice laced with unmistakable pride, from which Isabella deduced that he was part of Norrington's crew.

" _Commodore_ Norrington, now, actually," his comrade amended in the same proud tone. "And there's no one as deserves it more."

_Norrington_. Isabella knew the name as well as any Caribbean pirate. James Norrington, son of Admiral Lawrence Norrington, captain of the HMS _Interceptor_ , scourge of the pirates of the Caribbean. And he was right there, in Port Royal, where they had come to steal a ship. _Well, merda. God must really hate us. But wait, if he's here, then that brig must be–_

"And how could it be that two upstanding gentlemen such as yourselves did not merit an invitation?" Jack inquired, injecting as much sincerity as he could in his flattering words.

He didn't seem concerned by the news of Norrington's presence, Isabella noticed when she glanced at him. Either he'd been aware of it or he didn't think it would affect their plan. Mind you, if they sabotaged the ships, the commodore would be just as stuck as anyone else.

"Someone has to make sure this dock stays off-limits to civilians," Marine Number One—the thinner one—retorted matter-of-factly.

Well, if Jack had been hoping to play on some supposed resentment, he had quite plainly failed.

"It's a worthy goal, to be sure, but it seems to me that a," he moved to the left, immediately followed by the guards, to point at the warship anchored in the bay, "a ship like _that_ makes this one here a bit superfluous, really."

" _This one here_ is the _Interceptor_ , Jack," Isabella remarked dryly, folding her arms loosely and shifting her weight onto her left leg. "Norrington's flagship. It's with her that he captured the most fearsome pirates in the Caribbean waters."

"That's right," Number One said, apparently pleased that she knew of the freshly promoted commodore's prowesses. "That's because there's no ship as can match 'er for speed."

"I've heard of one," Jack countered, a finger in the air, "supposed to be very fast, nigh uncatchable..."

Cue pause for effect.

"The _Black Pearl_."

He had uttered the name of his stolen ship in a low ominous voice but, if he had expected to unnerve the two marines, he was disappointed. Number One's face remained mostly blank while Number Two laughed scornfully.

"There's no _real_ ship that can match the _Interceptor_ ," Number Two scoffed.

"The _Black Pearl is_ a real ship," Number One asserted.

"No. No, it's not."

"Yes, it is. I've seen it."

Number Two couldn't have looked more disbelieving if the other marine had told him that he'd met Davy Jones and shaken his hand.

"You've seen it?"

"Yes."

"You haven't seen it."

"Yes, I have."

Isabella and Jack shared a look that said _'How long do you think they can keep that up?'_ The answer, they knew, was _'Probably a good while.'_

"You've seen a ship with black sails, that's crewed by the damned and captained by a man so evil that Hell itself spat him back out?"

"... No."

"No," Number Two concluded in a definitive tone.

He turned to the two pirates again, confident that he'd settled the matter, but the other marine wasn't done.

"But I have seen a ship with black sails."

That was the moment Jack chose to slip away to the brig, followed by a reluctant Isabella, who was internally seething with exasperation. _Managgia a te, Jack. If we get thrown in jail, I swear I'll strangle you before the rope can do the job itself._ Naturally, he had barely touched the wheel when the marines noticed them.

"Hey! You two! Get away from there!" Number One shouted as he and his comrade came charging aboard, their rifles aimed squarely at the pirates.

"You don't have permission to be aboard," Number Two said once they had reached the top of the stairs that led to the quarterdeck.

"I'm sorry," Jack sighed in an unconvincingly sheepish tone, his hands spead in apology, "it's just– it's such a pretty boat. _Ship._ "

"Yes, positively irresistible," Isabella drawled tartly.

She had positioned herself to Jack's right, her body slightly angled and deceptively relaxed. _If they try to arrest us, we'll have to kill them and hide their bodies,_ she decided with a pang of regret—the two men were only doing their job, after all. _For all I know, the hangsman is a delightful man but I have no intention of making his acquaintance._

"What are your names?" Number One demanded, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Smith. Or Smithy, if you like. And this is Mrs. Smith."

"What's your purpose in Port Royal, _Mr. and Mrs. Smith_?" Number Two questioned on, lading their fake name with enough scepticism to sink a sloop.

"Yeah, and no lies!" Number One added.

"Well, then, I confess," Jack began and, as he talked, he sauntered forward until he could grasp one of the main mast backstays, prompting the marines to point their rifles at him a little more threateningly. Isabella cursed his recklessness silently—if the marines decided to shoot, he wouldn't be able to take cover in time. "It is our intention to commandeer one of these ships, pick up a crew in Tortuga, raid, pillage, plunder, and otherwise pilfer our weasely black guts out!"

Isabella let her hand drift towards the grip of her cutlass, even though she was reasonably certain that the guards wouldn't believe a word Jack had just said.

"I said no lies!" Number One snapped.

_Oh, grazie a Dio._ _Maybe we can get out of this without having to fight two Royal Marines on the deck of a ship in broad daylight._

"I think he's telling the truth," Number Two commented in an undertone.

"If he were telling the truth, he wouldn't have told us."

"Unless, of course, he knew you wouldn't believe the truth even if he told it to you," Jack pointed out.

Isabella's eye twitched. _That's it. I'm going to kill him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... thoughts? Was it good? Bad? Let me know!
> 
> For your information, the Sforza family actually existed. They ruled the Duchy of Milan during the Renaissance until the death of the last family member in 1535. Well, the last legitimate family member, that is ;)
> 
> You now know a little about Isabella's background. More will be revealed in the next chapter. But yeah... she's got an evil twin! ^^ Just so you know, I chose her name in honour of one of my favourite video game characters: Isabela from the Dragon Age franchise, who happens to be a pirate captain too. Their personalities are very different, though. And I made her Italian... well, mostly for the sake of diversity.
> 
> The Danse Macabre, or Dance of Death, is a medieval allegory on the universality of death: no one can escape it, no matter their social status. It's also a memento mori (in Latin, 'remember that you have to die').
> 
> Translation:  
> \- amico mio = my friend  
> \- dio mio = oh my god  
> \- sei impazzito? = have you gone mad?  
> \- merda = shit  
> \- managgia a te = damn you  
> \- grazie a Dio = thank God


	2. Sparrow and Sforza

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling generous, so here's the second chapter. First meeting between James and Isabella... And you're going to see some of a Brine-Tongue's abilities.
> 
> I forgot to say it, but the title is the almost literal translation of the French phrase 'contre vents et marées', which basically means 'against all odds'.

There were times when Isabella thought that Jack had to be some kind of trickster god in human form and now was one of those times. She couldn't come up with any other way to explain why the marines who, mere minutes before, had been holding them at gunpoint, were now hanging on every word of the story he was spinning—an exciting adventure involving himself, a tribe of cannibals, and a crew of black-hearted smugglers, and one she knew to be a complete fabrication. Jack hadn't included her in the story, pretending it took place before they'd met, for which she was grateful as it spared her from having to participate in its narration. She lied well and manipulated with ease but, when it came to weaving words and deeds in a captivating whole, she couldn't best Jack. So, she was content with leaning against the rail, her arms loosely folded and her legs crossed at the ankles, a smile playing on her lips as Jack described the wild party that the tribe had thrown to celebrate their victory.

From where she stood, Isabella had an all-but unobstructed view of the glittering sea off the starboard side and of the cliff that towered over them, crowned by Fort Charles. For this reason, she was the only one who noticed the woman plummeting down into the sea from the parapet of the fort _._

"Porca miseria!" she cried out, jerking upright.

She shoved past the startled marines and reached the starboard rail just as the woman hit the water with a loud splash, barely missing the rocks that showed on the surface. Moments later, an anguished shout— _"Elizabeth!"_ —came from the fort. By then, Isabella had already removed her wide-brimmed black felt hat and thrust it at Marine Number One—the thinner one—, who fumbled to catch it.

"Hold this and don't you dare lose anything," she growled as she pulled off her baldric.

It joined her hat, followed seconds later by her dark red coat, her pistol, and the sheath holding her dagger.

"Are you sure it's a good idea?" Jack intervened, though he didn't make any move to stop her. "We really don't need the attention."

"I'm not letting her drown," the Italian woman retorted, leaping onto the rail.

With these words, she dove into the sea. Thankfully, the water was clear, which allowed her to spot her target immediately, and the currents weren't too strong. In a few powerful strokes, she had almost closed the distance between them when two things happened in quick succession. First, she heard someone enter the water behind her and knew with a thrill of relief that Jack had decided to help her. And then, with a sound akin to a muffled drumbeat, a thin shock wave swept outward in a swift wide circle with the drowning woman—Elizabeth—as its centre. It hit Isabella like a rope swung across her chest, pushing her back a feet or two and almost knocking the air from her lungs. At that moment, a certainty clenched her heart like a clawed hand of ice—something very, very bad was coming this way. It took her an effort of will to push her fear away and focus on the most urgent task, namely rescuing Elizabeth, who was floating just above the sandy seafloor, her long dark blond hair billowing around her head.

She reached her only moments before Jack. They each hooked a hand under her shoulders and dragged her up, fighting the weight of the water-logged gown. Finally, they broke the surface, gasping for air and blinking water from their eyes, but the hardest part was still ahead of them. The heavy gown kept tangling around their legs and they knew that they couldn't both carry the young woman without getting in each other's way.

"Gown," Isabella spat, struggling to keep Elizabeth's head above the water.

"I know," Jack grunted.

By tacit agreement, they took a deep breath and let themselves sink. In a few seconds, they had pulled the blasted thing off the young woman, leaving her only in her stays and a thin straight shift that didn't offer the water as much purchase to tug them down. Still, fighting the currents was much harder with only one free arm and the added weight of Elizabeth, so they took turns pulling her towards the dock, first Isabella and then Jack. At last, Isabella hauled herself out of the water and onto the dock, her muscles burning and her heart pounding. Still, she didn't allow herself to pause but helped Jack pull Elizabeth onto the pier, paying no attention to the two marines who had rushed to them, their arms still full of the pirates' belongings. As Jack hoisted himself up next to her, she knelt beside the young woman and put her cheek to her nose.

"Merda, she's not breathing," she huffed.

Jack snatched Isabella's dagger from Number One's arms, pushed Isabella aside to take her place, and sliced the laces that closed Elizabeth's stays. The second he'd yanked the stays off her, she jolted, her eyes flew open, and she rolled onto her side, coughing up half the Caribbean sea's worth of water.

"Never would've thought of that," Marine Number Two commented, clearly impressed, while Elizabeth sputtered and heaved.

"Clearly, you've never been to Singapore," Jack retorted, his voice rough from weariness.

Elizabeth fell back onto the wooden planks, working to catch her breath, her brown eyes wandering dazedly between the two pirates. Isabella opened her mouth to ask her how she felt but the words died in her throat when she caught Jack staring in disbelief at the medallion the young woman wore on a thin chain around her neck. Apparently made of solid gold, it was embossed with a skull surrounded by intricate patterns—not the kind of jewelry you'd expect a high-society lady to own. Elizabeth remained still as Jack picked it up, a shadow cast over his face.

"What is it?" Isabella queried, but he didn't appear to hear her.

"Where did you get that?" he asked softly, his eyes never leaving the medallion.

Elizabeth never got the chance to answer him because, at this moment, hurried footsteps clacked on the dock and the point of a slender but wickedly sharp sword was at Jack's throat. A company of soldiers, their rifles aimed straight at Jack, barred the land end of the dock; they were led by three Navy officers in blue coats and white wigs. The one who was threatening Jack with his sword was wearing a medal on a red ribbon around his neck—the newly promoted Commodore Norrington, no doubt. He was staring at the pirate with such hostility that Isabella almost expected her friend to spontaneously combust. With a grimace, she realized how bad the whole scene looked—Jack kneeling over Elizabeth, who was left only in her undergarments. Although, she had to wonder what her own role was supposed to be.

"On your feet," the commodore growled.

While Jack obeyed, Isabella picked up her dagger and put it back in its sheath, which she attached to her belt. At this moment, an older man in rich clothes and a long grey wig pushed past the soldiers and all but lunged at Elizabeth, gasping out her name in sheer relief. Her father, Isabella deduced as she stood up.

"Are you all right?" he asked urgently, helping the young woman to her feet and peeling off his blue coat to wrap it around her.

"Yes, I'm fine," Elizabeth assured him with a look over her shoulder at Jack and Isabella.

Her father's gaze travelled from her to Jack to the two marines still holding the pirates' effects. The aristocrat frowned in confusion when he spotted Isabella, unable to reconcile her presence with what he imagined had been happening. As for Isabella, she was watching the additional soldiers running down the ramp to the dock with dismay. A stream of withering Italian curses coursed through her mind. Jack bore the pirate brand and, while she didn't, she couldn't pass for anything other than a pirate—not dressed as she was.

To put in plainly, they were in deep, dark shit.

It wouldn't have happened if they hadn't rescued Elizabeth, of course, but she couldn't bring herself to regret it. Not that she was prone to heroism but she had strong enough a moral compass to know that, had she let the young woman drown, she wouldn't have been able to look at herself in a mirror. And if they were caught– _No, one thing at a time,_ she thought, pushing away the guts-twisting image of the gallows that flashed in her mind. _First, let's focus on_ not _getting caught._

"We pulled your daughter out of the water," she chimed in, folding her arms and levelling a pointed look at the aristocrat. "In case you had another theory in mind."

Taken aback, he stared at her for a couple of seconds before turning a questioning gaze to his daughter.

"It's true, father," Elizabeth confirmed. She looked up at Norrington who, while no longer trying to incinerate Jack with his glare, was still studying him suspiciously. "Please, Commodore, lower your sword. They saved my life."

Norrington's eyes lingered on Jack for a moment longer, then slid to Isabella, whom he considered speculatively for a second. Suddenly, his face turned into an expressionless mask that worried Isabella considerably more than his glare, and he sheathed his sword with a sharp gesture.

"I believe thanks are in order," he said, offering his hand for Jack to shake.

All at once, Isabella's instincts bristled and hissed in alarm. She wouldn't have been able to say what tipped her off—not a look, or a word, or a twitch. She just had the sudden, absolute certainty that Jack shouldn't take that hand and she had learnt a long time ago to trust her gut. Unfortunately, before she could do more than opening her mouth, Jack reached out and clasped the commodore's hand.

He really shouldn't have.

Lightning-fast, Norrington tugged Jack towards him and yanked his sleeve up, exposing the P-shaped brand that denounced him as a pirate. Isabella felt as if her heart had turned to stone and dropped into her stomach. _Merda._

"Had a brush with the East India Trading Company, did we, pirate?"

The commodore's taunting, satisfied tone had Isabella clenching her jaws. She curbed her sudden urge to punch him in the face and, instead, quickly scanned their surroundings for a way to escape.

"Hang him," Elizabeth's father ordered in far too gleeful a tone.

… No, all the possible ways out were blocked—by the sea, by the brig, by half a dozen soldiers armed with rifles.

"Keep your guns on him, men," Norrington commanded. "Gillette, fetch some irons." He pushed Jack's sleeve a little higher, revealing the bird tattooed on his arm. "Well, well. Jack Sparrow, isn't it?"

At that moment, the wind picked up, colder than it had been not an hour before and blowing from the sea. Its whisper slipped into Isabella's ear, seeking the way to her heart. She turned towards the sea and took two slow steps down the dock, her head cocked and her eyes closed. Behind her, Jack and Norrington were still talking but she was no longer listening to them.

What the sea wind breathed to her never took the form of words, or even of ideas, but only of flickering sensations and elusive feelings. But she was a Brine-Tongue, like her father, and his mother, and her father, and so on until Caterina Sforza, her great-great-great-grandmother, the first Brine-Tongue. The sea and its winds had been speaking to her since she was an infant and she understood their language as well as she did her own. That morning, she felt a darkness like an oily cloud that rolled towards them, pushed by the same wind that was warning her about it. She felt its speed fuelled by the voracity of its greed. She felt its coldness, as empty and absolute as death, frost creeping over her heart.

A hand pressed her shoulder and startled her out of her thoughts.

"Izzy, the commodore would like a word," Jack said.

Isabella took a second to finish regaining her footing in the physical world before turning to her friend, who frowned when he noticed the troubled look in her eyes.

"What did you hear?" he asked, familiar with Isabella's gifts.

The Italian woman glanced at the cerulean immensity murmuring behind her, towards the unseen threat coming straight at them.

"'By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes'," she quoted in a quiet tense voice. "But I don't know what that something is."

"You know your Shakespeare," Norrington commented, his surprise plain in his tone.

_Che palle. I'd almost forgotten about them._ For the first time since he'd arrived, she took a good look at the commodore. First, though, she had to firmly club the most superficial part of herself on the head so it would stop insisting that she let her eyes linger on his handsome face much longer than strictly necessary. But then, she saw the way he wore his uniform, as if he'd been born in it—which, come to think of it, was practically the case, given who his father had been. Unquestioning obedience to the king's laws and steadfast loyalty to the Royal Navy had surely been instilled in him from a young age. His eyes, though, weren't those of a self-righteous zealot. They were as green as the little jade dragon in her parents' cabin on the _Danse Macabre_ and, though filled with wariness, they held a... not a light, exactly, but a _clearness_ , like when, leaning over the rail of a ship, she could see the seabed through the sun-saturated water, all white sand studded with dark rocks. _A good man,_ Isabella concluded, _but one who'd send me to the gallows without a second thought._

"Yes, Commodore, I do," she retorted, too proud to let the Navy man think her an uneducated savage. "Among a great many other things. What can I say, I'm full of surprises."

"Do these surprises include the pirate brand?"

Since there was no point in delaying the inevitable, Isabella pushed up her right sleeve, revealing the unblemished olive skin of her forearm.

"See for yourself," she said in the most casual tone she could muster.

_And now, the moment of truth._ Would they demand to see her left arm? Would she have to show them the one thing that would prove them, beyond doubt, that she was a pirate?

"Show me your other arm," Norrington commanded, his inflexible gaze never leaving her face.

Her insides clenched nauseously. _Merda. Merda. Merda._ She hid her dismay behind a defiant mask, as if daring the commodore to show even the faintest satisfaction at her defeat, and shoved her sleeve up her left arm. In any other circumstance, she would have smiled at the very clear surprise that washed over Norrington's face when he saw the tattoo on her forearm.

A rearing hippocampus in profile, its blue-scaled tail forming a loop and its forepaws webbed, over a cutlass, with a little crab just above the pommel.

The Sforza family emblem.

"And here I thought that Valerio Sforza had murdered his entire family," Norrington commented.

Isabella caught a hint of curiosity in his otherwise impassive eyes when he looked back up at her. It didn't surprise her—the Sforzas were a bit of a legend, not only among pirates but also in the Western navies. The former held them in various degrees of respect, fear, and envy for their powers, their knowledge, and their staunch adherence to the Code; the latter knew them as the pirates who never killed when they didn't have to, not that it got them any preferential treatment, of course. The fact that their line dated back two hundred years only added to their aura.

Valerio's inhumanity had changed all that, though. Now, the Sforza name inspired only fear and hostility, even among pirates. Isabella knew, deep down, that she had a duty to put an end to the bloodbath but she wasn't ready to face her brother again, not after he'd almost killed her. And also because, even after everything he'd done, he was still her twin brother.

"That's what he thinks too," she deadpanned, shaking off her grim thoughts, as she covered her arm again.

"You're a Sforza?" Elizabeth suddenly chimed in, her eyes brimming with an enthusiastic curiosity that brought an amused quirk to Isabella's lips.

"That's right."

"You must be Valerio's sister," Norrington went on. "Isabella, is it?"

The woman in question gave him a tight false smile.

"Surprise."

"Your father once eluded mine."

Isabella felt a pang of nostalgia ripple through her as she remembered her father telling her nine-year-old self and her brother how the formidable Admiral Lawrence Norrington had chased him for two days, until he had come across two whales which, at his call, had surfaced right in the way of the admiral's ship.

"I know. And now, the son has caught the daughter. I'm sure your father would be very proud. Of course, _I'm_ not the Sforza currently busy turning the Atlantic red..."

"Your brother's turn will come. Perhaps once I have eradicated piracy in the Caribbean."

Norrington suddenly stiffened, his pride stung by the half-mocking, half-pitying look in Isabella's russet eyes.

"You don't stand a chance against Valerio," she scoffed in a cutting tone. "And if he ever gets his hands on you? Well, you'd better kill yourself right away because he'll make your torture and death a spectacle for all the pirates in the western seas to watch."

Her words splashed the commodore's mind with the red of blood and pain and cruelty and something inside him shuddered and recoiled. Annoyed that she had managed to unsettle him so much but hiding his unease behind a stony mask, Norrington confiscated Isabella's dagger, grabbed each pirate by an arm, and marched them through the group of redcoats to Lieutenant Gillette, who was back with two pairs of shackles.

"Commodore, I really must protest!" Elizabeth huffed as she stormed after Norrington, her father's coat slipping off her without her noticing or caring.

Jack was handed to Gillette and Isabella to the third officer, who promptly busied themselves cuffing the pirates. Isabella had to repress a flinch when the cold weight of the manacles closed around her wrists. She chose to turn her attention to Jack instead. When she caught his eye, he gave her an almost imperceptible nod, which was all the confirmation she needed—he had a plan of escape. Time for a little distraction, then. All the sounds around her, from the clinking of the chain that hung between her wrists to Elizabeth's and Norrington's voices, faded as she reached deep inside herself and let out a mighty call, not with her voice but with the power that ran through her veins. A call that was meant to be heard not by humans but by something entirely different. A lot of somethings, actually. And hear they did, and came.

With a satisfied little smile, Isabella brought her focus back to the events at hand just in time to see Jack throw the chain of his manacles over Elizabeth's head and wrap it around her throat, forcing a startled gasp from her. The whole group surged forward even as Jack moved back, Elizabeth's body a shield against the soldiers' rifles, but the sight of the chain menacingly pressed against the young woman's throat stopped them in their tracks instantly.

"No– No, don't shoot!" Elizabeth's father cried out, his eyes wide with dread.

"I knew you'd warm up to me," Jack said with a wide mocking smile. "Izzy, come here."

Isabella stepped away from the Navy officer who had cuffed her and came to stand next to Jack. He glanced at her questioningly and she nodded in confirmation. Yes, she had done her part; she was ready when he was.

"Commodore, our effects, please," Jack demanded. "Mine first. And don't forget my hat."

Norrington hesitated, his fists balled in frustration, glaring at the pirates as if he could obliterate them just with the might of his wrath. But Isabella could see fear there too, causing her to wonder if he had been the one to shout Elizabeth's name with such terror when the young woman had fallen into the sea.

"Commodore?" Jack insisted.

Marine Number Two handed the pirate's belongings to Norrington, who grabbed them angrily and held them out to Elizabeth.

"Elizabeth– It _is_ Elizabeth, isn't it?" Jack prodded when his hostage made no move to take his effects.

"It's Miss Swann," the young woman bit out.

She looked more angry than afraid, Isabella noticed. _She's got steel in her,_ the Italian pirate thought appreciatively. _I think I could like her._ Then, _Swann? Isn't that the name of the local governor? Interesting._

"Miss Swann, if you'd be so kind? Come come, dear, we don't have all day."

As Elizabeth finally picked up his things, Jack snatched his pistol from the pile and, jerking the young woman around so she faced him, he pointed it at her temple and cocked the hammer.

"Now, if you'd be very kind?"

With a small nod, Elizabeth got to work, first jamming the pirate's hat on. Isabella caught Norrington clenching his jaw in powerless rage when Elizabeth reached around Jack in order to put his baldric back in place, a movement that pressed her against him. _Oh yes,_ she thought. _Definitely in love. I wonder if she returns his feelings..._ The commodore's distress didn't escape Jack who, naturally, couldn't help grinning smugly.

"Easy on the goods, darling," Jack said as Elizabeth strapped on the baldric none-too-gently.

"You're despicable," his hostage hissed in response.

"Sticks and stones, love. We saved your life, you save ours, we're square. And now for my friend, Commodore," he went on in a louder voice. "Her effects, please."

He let Elizabeth turn around to take what Norrington was holding out to her. Isabella put everything back on as quickly as she could, though she had to tie the sleeves of her coat around her waist. She snuck a glance upward while she worked and withheld a smile. Because, while everyone had been watching the two pirates and their captive, dozens of sea birds had assembled in the sky high above them. Gulls, terns, petrels, frigatebirds, boobies, noddies, all swirling together in a great shattered cloud, eerily silent but for the distant rainstorm of their beating wings. They wouldn't stay for much longer, though. Now was the time to act. But first...

"If you're as intelligent as you look, Commodore, you'll heed my warning," she said, shoving her pistol under the dark red sash tied around her waist. "There's something bad coming this way. Whatever it is, it'll be here tonight. You'd better be prepared."

If the distrustful look he gave her was any indication, Norrington wouldn't take her advice but, at least, she knew she had done what she could for the inhabitants of Port Royal.

Time to go, then.

"Jack."

That was all she needed to say.

"Gentlemen... m'lady..." Jack and Isabella backed up slowly, the former pulling Elizabeth with him, their enemies matching each step backward with a step forward. "You will always remember this as the day that you almost caught Captain Jack..."

At the Brine-Tongue's inaudible signal, the sea birds swooped down in a pandemonium of squawks and shrieks. On everyone's faces, the initial startlement gave way to horror when they looked up and saw the rippling mass of screaming beaks and sharp claws diving straight at them. They had no way of knowing that the birds wouldn't hurt them, but only hide the pirates as they escaped.

"... Sparrow!"

Jack shoved Elizabeth into Norrington's arms right when the great flock engulfed him and his men.

"Get on my back," the pirate instructed his friend as he grabbed the hoisting rope of the cargo crane behind them.

Isabella threw the chain of her irons over his head and, jumping up, wrapped her legs around his waist. A kick to the winch that secured the rope and up they soared while the cannon attached to the other end of the rope plummeted and smashed through the dock. The moment they reached the top, Jack let go of the rope and caught another. Pulled free by their momentum and their combined weight, the jib swung around. Isabella hung on for dear life, feeling as if she'd left her insides on the ground, and cursed loudly in Italian.

"Stop distracting me!" Jack shouted.

And he let go of the rope just as they flew over the second crane, landing precariously on its jib. Thrown off balance by Isabella's weight, he teetered, windmilled his arms, and would have fallen off if Isabella hadn't swiftly grabbed hold of one of the crane's guylines to steady them before dropping off him. The two pirates spared a second to glance down at the people they'd left behind and caught only glimpses of them among the whirlwind of birds—some flailing in a vain effort to beat off the wings that slapped their faces, others huddled on the ground with their arms curled over their heads. As Isabella had predicted, the soldiers didn't dare shoot for fear of hitting each other.

"How long do we have?" Jack asked.

"Maybe ten seconds."

"Well, let's not waste them."

Jack snapped the chain of his manacles over the guyline, gripped the far loop, and, launching himself off the crane, slid down the line until he came over the land end of the dock. Isabella followed him as soon as he let go and ran after him across the small stone bridge that linked this part of the docks to the rest of the town, just as, behind them, the flock of birds scattered. When, moments later, Norrington and his men, their uniforms rumpled and their wigs askew, came rushing around the corner of the crane's stone base, the two pirates had already disappeared into the streets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? What did you guys think? Yeah, Brine-Tongues can communicate with sea creatures. They can't manipulate sea water or wind, however; that would make them too powerful. And Isabella's brother killed their parents and tried to kill her. Delightful, right? More details to come later...
> 
> Oh, one last thing. Of course, nowadays, the "by the pricking of my thumbs" quote is a bit of a cliché but it probably wasn't in the 18th century (or at least not so much), hence Norrington's surprise at Isabella's knowledge.
> 
> I impatiently await your comments ^^ No, seriously, I'd really like to know what you think of the story so far.
> 
> Translation:  
> \- porca miseria = bloody hell  
> \- che palle = what a pain/ugh


	3. Friends in all sorts of places

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, everyone! And thank you so much for your comments and your kudos! I honestly didn't expect this story to have that much success so quickly.
> 
> So, will Izzy manage to elude the commodore and his men? I'll leave you to find out...

In the end, they had split up.

Neither of them liked the idea but, since getting caught together would serve absolutely no purpose, they might as well make their pursuers' task as difficult as they could. They had decided to meet at midnight under the stone bridge they'd crossed not two minutes before. With any luck, the threat sensed by Isabella would have reached Port Royal and caused enough chaos for them to steal a ship without being noticed; and if they were, the commodore would hopefully be too busy to give chase.

"And if one of us gets captured?" Isabella had asked tensely. "Because I'm not abandoning you to be hanged, Jack."

"Well, I'm not leaving you behind either. I can't sail a ship to Tortuga on me own, can I?"

Isabella had punched Jack in the shoulder in mock offence—they both knew that he would come for her even if he didn't need her. Now, Jack didn't usually care much about anyone's survival but his own. Only Isabella _wasn't_ anyone. She had been his adventuring companion for the past five years; they had sailed together, raided ships together, laughed and sung and drunk, gotten into all kinds of troubles, and pulled each other out of the fire more times than they could count. After Barbossa's mutiny, Jack had thought that he wouldn't trust anyone ever again but she had proven him wrong. She had become the only person he considered a true friend—and also probably the only person who considered _him_ a true friend. The only person he knew he could count on without reservation. The only person he trusted absolutely.

No, he couldn't and wouldn't leave her behind.

Watching her walk away down the narrow alley where they'd taken temporary refuge had tightened his guts in worry. He had pushed it to the back of his mind and set off in the opposite direction. Very soon, the whole town would be crawling with soldiers. He needed to focus on finding a place to hide and a way to remove his shackles.

The same thoughts occupied Isabella's mind as she strode away from Jack. She was vaguely planning to head towards the periphery of the town, and then escape into the jungle— _vaguely_ because she knew she had very little chance of making it there, if any at all. Only luck could save her now, and a lot of it. _Still, I'd better stack all the odds in my favour_ , she thought, stopping to put her coat on her shoulders. Satisfied that it mostly concealed her manacled hands if she held it closed, she proceeded to the mouth of the alley and glanced carefully around the corner, up and down the broad busy street, ready to jump back at the first glimpse of red uniforms.

The coast was clear.

 _Grazie a Dio. But that's going to change soon._ She took a deep breath, turned left, and, her head down, strode purposefully up the street. _Don't look as if you were trying to hide_ , she reminded herself as she dodged three boisterous sailors. _That would only make you more conspicuous._ Her pounding heart a counterpoint to the beats of her heels on the dirt road, her fingers clenching the edges of her coat, she cast about for a hiding place— _any_ hiding place—from under the brim of her hat while watching for patrolling soldiers. To her mounting anxiety, she found only houses and shops and palm trees. And suddenly– _Accidenti._

A redcoat troop up ahead. Coming straight towards her.

Her heart dropped like a stone.

The sour taste of fear in her mouth, she slowed down to a stroll, glancing around frantically. There, almost across from her, a side street. But she would have to put herself right in the soldiers' line of sight. At this moment, her ear was caught by the rumbling of wheels and the clatter of hoofs of a carriage coming up from behind her. _Perfect._ Her luck increased when a group of men exited a tavern just ahead of her, hiding her from the soldiers just as the carriage passed her. Immediately, she made her way across the street and ducked into the narrower, quieter street, forcing her gait into a perfect blend of haste and casualness when all her instincts were screaming at her to just _run_.

She hadn't walked thirty feet when another patrol turned the corner at the other end of the street. The sight punched her in the gut. Her good fortune had apparently abandoned her.

"Cazzo," she hissed as she stopped dead and spun on her heel... only to be met with a very familiar face. "... Meg?"

"Bella!" the young woman standing in front of the pirate gasped, her blue eyes wide with surprise.

But then, she picked up on the hunted look on Isabella's face and saw the soldiers marching in their direction. She pulled herself together in an instant and, with a quiet but resolute _"Follow me,"_ she hurried to the house that stood just on Isabella's right and unlocked the door with the key she had pulled from her pocket. The two women disappeared inside and Meg locked the door again. They were now standing inside a small white-plastered hallway lit up by the sunlight that came pouring from an opened door on the left. The faint smell of fish stew that lingered in the air forced a soft rumble from Isabella's stomach—she hadn't had anything since the night before.

"This way," Meg murmured, heading for the staircase at the far end of the room. "Quietly—we don't want the landlady to hear us."

Isabella followed her up the narrow winding stairs to the second floor, the last one before the attic. Meg unlocked one of the three doors there and ushered the pirate into a tiny bedroom, which Isabella took in at a single glance while her host locked the door behind them. A plain wood-frame bed was pushed against the back wall, in the corner it formed with the left-hand wall, which was pierced with a small lattice window. The door was flanked by a little chest of drawers and a simple washstand, which carried a brown ceramic washbasin and pitcher. A straw chair sat to the right of the bed and a shelf with a few books on it was fixed to the wall above the bed. Red hibiscus flowers spilling out of the blue vase that stood on the chest of drawers and a red-yellow-and-blue striped mat spread at the foot of the bed added a much-needed splash of colour—Isabella suspected that Meg had bought them herself. Everything was scrupulously clean, she noticed, from the floorboards to the sheets. She opened her mouth to ask where they were exactly but Meg startled her by pulling her into a tight embrace.

"I'm so happy to see you again!" the young woman chirped, apparently unconcerned by the manacle chain that dug into her stomach.

"So am I," Isabella replied with a wide smile. "I heard that that you'd finally managed to buy passage to Port Royal but nothing more."

"Well, as you can see, I'm safe and sound." Meg stepped back and eyed Isabella critically. "You look well."

"So do you. Better, even."

Meg, whose full name was Margaret Lawson, had always been beautiful. Her lovely face was framed by honey-blonde curls and lit up by a pair of eyes as blue as a cloudless summer sky, and her curves would make veteran sailors drop from the rigging. Better not be fooled by her charming looks, though. She had once blinded a man who had tried to rape her, and almost emasculated him—with her bare hands. She had still been working at the Salty Clam, Tortuga's brothel, at the time, as she had been since she was sixteen—she was now twenty-three, two years younger than Isabella.

Now that she had left the brothel for good, her eyes shone with a new radiance, as if a dull glaze had fallen off them, and there was a lightness to her step that Isabella hadn't seen before. Her skin, as white and smooth as the inside of a shell, no longer disappeared under a thick layer of white paint and rouge, and her modest ivory jacket and terracotta-red petticoat made a striking change from the garish blue gown she would squeeze herself into every day back in Tortuga.

She looked... free.

"I do feel better," she confirmed as she dropped on her bed the cloth bag she had been carrying. "But tell me," she went on, taking off her straw hat and her linen cap and plopping them on the chair, "what are you doing in Port Royal? We both know it's no place for pirates. And what about Jack? He's not with you?"

"Now that is a rather long story," Isabella said with a wry smile. "And I will tell it to you as soon as I get these things," she held up her shackled hands, "off me."

"What do you need?"

"Something tubular and not too thick that won't break in my hand. Any ideas?"

Meg remained pensively silent for a few moments, and then her face lit up.

"I think I know what you need! I'll be right back."

She whisked out of the room with a rustle of petticoats, closing the door behind her. When she returned a couple of minutes later, Isabella had draped her coat over the back of the chair, her pistol stowed in one of its pockets, and hung her hat and her baldric on a bedpost.

"Will this work?"

The young woman was holding out a brass clock winding key. Isabella plucked it from her fingers her heart swelling with hope, and inserted it into the keyhole of the left-hand cuff. _Ti prego ti prego ti prego funziona– ah._

"The shank's not wide enough. I need something to wrap around it, like a strip of fabric."

"Dishcloth," Meg blurted out, and she dashed out again.

She came back with a piece of coarse cloth, which she handed out to Isabella. With a few feverish gestures, the pirate tore a short strip off it and wound it tightly around the key shank, which she jammed into the keyhole once more. She twisted, one, two, three times, pulled– _click. S_ _ì_ _!_

"It works!" Meg enthused.

"And thank God for that," Isabella sighed as she worked on the other cuff.

Moments later, she was free. Suddenly feeling a lot lighter, she dropped the irons on the bed and rubbed her wrists. The cuffs, a little too wide for her, had left only faint marks but she could still feel their pressure, through her skin to her bones. She gave the winding key back to Meg, who slipped it in her pocket along with the dishcloth.

"So? I'm fairly sure you didn't risk being hanged just to visit me," Meg said, pushing the manacles aside to take a seat on her bed.

Isabella snorted in amusement and sat down on the floor, her back against the door and her forearms balanced on her uplifted knees.

"I like you but not that much. Sorry. No, it's all Jack's fault, actually."

She told Meg the whole story, from Jack's tricking Scarlett and Giselle into believing he would marry them to their escape from Norrington and the nerve-racking game of hide-and-seek she'd played with the patrolling soldiers.

"Well, on the bright side," Meg commented with a lopsided smile when the pirate fell silent, "my debt to you is now paid in full."

Isabella pursed her lips. She didn't need to ask what the young woman was talking about—she remembered perfectly.

"There was no debt, Meg."

"Of course there was. You saved my life. And I don't like owing anyone, not even you."

The two women had met a little over fours years before; Isabella had found Meg in a street of Tortuga, bleeding out from a botched abortion. Her knowledge of the healing properties of plants, accumulated by and passed down through generations of Sforzas, had saved the young prostitute. Or, more precisely, an ointment of yarrow leaves and common St John's wort oil applied directly to the wounds had. From then on, Isabella had become something of an apothecary to the women of the Clam, supplying them with herbal remedies, contraceptives, and abortifacients with strict instructions on how to use them properly and safely. In exchange, she had asked for a clean room and a hot bath whenever she needed them, an arrangement that Émilie Moreau, the brothel's madam, had readily agreed to.

"So, where are we, exactly?" the pirate asked, choosing not to pursue the matter further.

"Mrs Flynn's boarding house. I live here with other young women like me—you know, unmarried, without families. The food's decent, the beds aren't too hard, and the price is fair. And I work as a barmaid now, in a tavern not far from here—the Prancing Prawn, it's called. I've also got a couple of small shopkeepers paying me to clean their houses once a week. So you see," Meg added with a little smirk, "I still serve men but now I'm doing it on my feet."

Isabella grinned and shook her head.

"I'm glad it makes you happy but _I_ much prefer not to serve men at all."

"To each their own path, eh? Anyway," Meg went on as she stood up, "since we're speaking of service, I need to be running along. Mr. Barker's expecting me."

"One of your shopkeepers?" Isabella inquired, getting to her feet.

"A bookseller. He's very nice but not tidy at all. His house always looks as if a hurricane had swept through it."

While she talked, Meg picked up the cloth bag she had left on her bed and, under Isabella's perplexed gaze, she fished out a loaf of brown bread and a few quenepa fruits, star apples, and naseberries from it, setting them on the chest of drawers.

"Doesn't Mrs. Flynn feed her boarders?" the pirate asked, her voice laced with amusement.

"Of course she does, but we're not allowed to take anything from the kitchen outside of meal times. This is for my late-night cravings."

It was at this moment that Meg caught her guest staring longingly at her supplies. She sighed in resignation but a smile was playing around her lips.

"Oh, fine, you can have them."

A radiant smile lit up Isabella's face and she clasped her hands together in gratitude.

"Grazie mille! I promise I'll leave you money to buy some more."

"Oh, I'm counting on it." The young woman breezed past Isabella and busied herself putting her cap and her hat back on. "Now, I'm going directly to the tavern after I'm done with Mr. Barker's house, so I won't be back until well after midnight."

At these words, a shadow fell over Isabella's face, which earned her an inquisitive glance from her host.

"What is it?"

"Something bad's coming from the sea. Whatever it is, it'll be here tonight." The Brine-Tongue took Meg's hands in hers and fixed an earnest look on her. "Keep safe, yes? Find a room to barricade yourself into if necessary."

Meg had no knowledge of Isabella's powers but she did know that the Italian pirate wasn't one to cry wolf. If she was worried, then she had a good reason to be.

"I will," Meg promised, giving Isabella's hands a reassuring squeeze before moving away. "You be careful too, you hear?"

"I'll do my best."

After handing Isabella the key and recommending she lock the door, Meg was off. And suddenly, Isabella was alone, the silence only disturbed by the murmur of the street.

Safe.

Her nerves, until that moment as taut as forestays, relaxed all at once and she plopped down on the bed as the seething energy that had driven her during her escape drained from her body.

"I hope Jack's safe," she whispered to herself after a minute of indulging in the luxury of not thinking about anything.

She took a deep breath in an attempt to relieve the pressure of worry against her chest. There was nothing she could do to help her friend anyway. Right now, she needed to look after herself so she'd feel slightly more vigorous than a rheumatic sea slug when the time came to sail off into the sunset—well, the night, actually. First, she would eat, despite the exhaustion weighing her eyelids down; then, she would sleep. After that, she'd see. It would depend on the time of the day.

Since she was going to stay there at least until nightfall, Isabella decided that she might as well get comfortable and removed her boots, her belt, and her sash. Using her dagger to cut the bread and slice through the rinds, she ate most of the food, careful not to leave juice stains everywhere. When she was done, she washed her hands with the water left inside the pitcher and didn't fail to leave a few coins on the dresser before lying down on the bed, her back to the wall and her knees drawn up. Sleep wasn't long to come.

* * *

Night had fallen. With it, a thin grey fog had rolled in from the sea and spilled into the town, its damp veils blurring the streets and snagging on the riggings of the ships. The heavy clouds that had lingered in the sky all afternoon in great bruised swells were now hiding the waxing moon, pushed by an unseasonably chilly wind. Commodore Norrington and Governor Swann were strolling along the ramparts of Fort Charles, high above the courtyard and its gallows on their left and the fog-bound sea on their right.

"My guess is that she somehow managed to escape into the jungle," the commodore was saying in response to Swann's question about his efforts to capture Isabella Sforza. "Since she cannot survive in there for long, she will attempt to make her way back into town sooner or later, perhaps when she believes that we've relaxed our vigilance."

"We could let her think that we have," the governor suggested.

"My thoughts exactly," Norrington replied with a nod.

It frustrated him that she had given them the slip, of course, but he was confidant that Isabella Sforza wouldn't elude him for much longer. And he would make sure that the news of her capture spread far and wide. The last daughter of the great Sforza family, caught by the Royal Navy—what a blow it would be to all the pirate scum! Now, if he could only suppress the little thorn of unease that pricked his insides every time he pictured Isabella swinging from the gallows... He had never had a woman hanged before. _Not a woman_ , his inner voice, which often sounded a lot like his father, reminded him. _A pirate._

"Has my daughter given you an answer yet?" Governor Swann inquired, rousing him from his thoughts.

Ah, Elizabeth. The other object of his concern. The truth was that he had no idea whether she would accept his proposal. He had won her regard, that much he knew for certain, but she had never given him any indication that her feelings towards him went beyond simple fondness. Of course, love was hardly a requirement for marriage. They were both excellent matches, her father approved the union whole-heartedly, they respected each other—that would be more than enough for any other woman. However, Elizabeth had never been one to submit meekly to other people's wishes and expectations, which was precisely what he loved about her. To him, she had always stood out from all the other young women of Port Royal's high society, and not merely for her beauty, or even her quick wit. Her free spirit, shining through the smooth veneer of proprieties and social conventions—that was what had drawn him in. Ironically enough, it was also what made him uncertain of her answer... Because, unless he was completely wrong about her character, a marriage of convenience wouldn't satisfy her. To be honest, he wondered if it would satisfy _him_... Wouldn't it be unfair, for both of them, to bind to him for the rest of their lives a woman who didn't, and perhaps never would, love him? Would he be content knowing that his wife hadn't given him her heart as he had given his to her?

… Well. He could only hope that Elizabeth did love him.

"No, she hasn't," he told the governor.

"Well, she has had a very trying day." Swann paused and glanced around with a look of faint distaste, as if he was only now noticing the fog and the cold. "Ghastly weather, doon't you think?"

"Bleak," Norrington admitted. "Very bleak."

So much so, in fact, that he was starting to wonder if Isabella Sforza might have been telling the truth when she had warned them of an impending danger. Until that moment, he had dismissed her claims as extravagant lies intended to sow disquiet in his mind. _But she must have known that you'd never believe such apparent absurdities,_ a very small part of him had pointed out. _If that's the case, she had no reason to lie. She may have had good intentions._ He held back a derisive snort. A pirate with good intentions? Pigs would sooner grow wings.

A distant boom, barely audible, shattered the commodore's musing like a fist through a window. He tensed up, holding his breath, his ears straining to catch what he already knew would come—a thin needle of sound puncturing the night, the whistle of an incoming cannonball.

"Cannon fire!" he yelled, tackling the governor a fraction of second before the parapet exploded.

And as he started shouting orders, he had the fleeting thought that, if he survived, he should perhaps have a look at a pig, just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, not much action in this chapter. Dont worry, the next one will more than make up for it. I hope you liked the part written from James' point of view! I tried to stay in character, so let me know if I succeeded... I thought that if he liked demure, compliant women, there was simply no way he'd fall for Isabella.
> 
> I'm sorry if Meg's backstory feels a bit... rushed. I had written something completely different, then I changed my mind at the last minute and had to come up with a whole new character, namely Meg. Isabella's relationship with Tortuga's ladies of the night, however, was planned from the beginning. You'll see later how useful it is to have a brothel's madam as a friend ;) Oh, and there actually are herbs that were said to have a contraceptive effect but, apparently, their effectiveness is far from guaranteed.
> 
> You should know that I have no idea whether a winding key would actually work to unlock that kind of manacles. Most likely not, but it's still more believable than having Meg use her feminine wiles to get a key from... someone (I don't know who).
> 
> So, you now know that Izzy is 25. For you information, in 1728 (which is apparently the year in which CotBP takes place), Will and Elizabeth are both 20. As for Jack and James, it's a little more uncertain since we only know that Jack was born around 1690 and that he's ten years older than James. That being said, the actors were 39 and 29 respectively when filming started in 2002, so that's what I'll be going with for their characters.
> 
> By the way, the story of Jack tricking Giselle and Scarlett into thinking he'd marry them is cannon. It's told in a short film called Tales of the Code: Wedlocked. I haven't seen it but there's a PotC Wiki article about it.
> 
> From the Antiquity, bivalves like clams have been a symbol of fertility because the inside is apparently reminiscent of a woman's vagina... Hence the Salty Clam. Also, the Prancing Prawn is totally a sea-themed nod to the Prancing Poney from The Lord of the Rings.
> 
> Oh, and the fruits I mentioned all originate from Jamaica. I figured they'd be cheaper than imported ones.
> 
> Wow, okay, that's long... I'm going to shut up now. Drop a comment, yes? I'd like to hear your opinions.
> 
> Translation:  
> \- grazie a Dio = thank God  
> \- accidenti = damn it  
> \- cazzo = fuck  
> \- ti prego funziona = please work  
> \- sì = yes  
> \- grazie mille = thank you very much


	4. What shall we do with an undead sailor?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! And thank you for your comments and your kudos! I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate your support!
> 
> The title is a play on a line from "Drunken Sailor", a sea shanty. My favourite version is the one by the Irish Rovers. You can find it on Deezer and Spotify, probably on Youtube too. It's very fun to listen to!
> 
> And now, I'll let you find out what Izzy will do during the attack...

Isabella was torn from her sleep by an explosion that shook the whole house. She sat bolt upright on the bed, wide-eyed, and was very surprised to find the room bathed in the unmistakable orange glow of firelight. Which, since there was no chimney and she hadn't lit any candle, was more than a little disturbing. A second explosion propelled her out of bed like a mighty kick to the backside and, spitting out a volley of curses that could have stripped barnacles off a ship's hull, she started getting dressed as quickly as she could.

So, Port Royal was being attacked. By what—pirates? It had to be. And not the Code-abiding kind, judging by the gusto with which they were firing at the town. But who would be crazy enough to take on Fort Charles' cannons and garrison? But, wait, simple pirates couldn't possibly be the source of that darkness she'd felt... Unless they weren't simple pirates at all.

Isabella hopped on one foot as she pulled on her boot, stumbled, banged her hip against the corner of the chest of drawers, cursed again. She could hear people screaming outside as cannonballs smashed through houses and set them ablaze. She had to find Meg and get her to safety before the pirates swarmed into the streets. Then, she would go after Jack; together, they'd decide on their next course of action. One thing was certain, they couldn't steal a ship until the pirates were gone or they'd get caught in the crossfire.

Finally, Isabella jammed her hat on and ran out of the room without forgetting to snatch the manacles when she passed them. She hurtled down the stairs... and had to stop dead in her tracks before she could barrel into the four women in white nightgowns huddled together in the hallway, their terrified chatter turning into shrieks at Isabella's sudden appearance. It took a second for the pirate to assess the situation and dismiss it as inconsequential, during which the women stared at her with wide eyes, clinging to each other. When Isabella strode to the door, they scrambled out of her way like frightened hens.

"If you want to live," the pirate said abruptly, her hand on the doorknob, "run to the fort before the pirates land."

And then, she was gone. Outside, it was utter chaos. Isabella worked her way up the street through a swarm of panic-blind townspeople, the air shuddering with screams and the crackling rumble of the fires, the acrid smell of smoke catching at her throat. She remembered Meg telling her that the Prancing Prawn wasn't too far from the boarding house, remembered that there had been a tavern in the wider street she had come from hours before—she just hoped it was the right one. Right when she emerged from the side street, a cannonball crashed into a house behind her, showering the shrieking villagers with debris. Isabella had instinctively ducked, her hands flying to her head, but she didn't get hit. She wove through the stampede to the other side of the street, her eyes darting around in search of a pretty blonde head... and suddenly, Meg was right in front of her, covered in dust and gripping a long wickledly sharp knife in her scraped hand, a wild look in her eyes.

"There you are!" Isabella exclaimed, her voice full of relief. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Meg shot back, her eyes regaining some of their focus. "The tavern got hit, so we had to clear a way to the door, but I'm fine."

"Bene. Now come on, let's get you to the fort."

The barmaid scowled but, before she could say a word, a savage clamour rose behind them—half a dozen pirates were storming into the street, their teeth bared and their eyes feral, killing everyone in their path with pistols and cutlasses. At this sight, anger roared through Isabella's veins—those men weren't pirates, they were butchers, they were breaking the Code, and they all deserved to be executed.

"We've got to help these people!" Meg shouted, grabbing Isabella's arm.

The pirate shook her head.

"Meg–"

"Don't you dare say I can't, Bella!" the young woman spat fiercely, her eyes glinting with determination. "I can fight well enough. I won't cower behind stone walls. This is my home now, and I'm defending it!"

Isabella realized then that she had no right to try and dictate Meg's actions. The barmaid was a strong, intelligent adult, perfectly capable of making her own decisions. To pretend otherwise would be a grave insult to her. Still, that didn't mean that Isabella was going to leave her to fend for herself.

"We stay together," the Brine-Tongue stated in a tone that brooked no argument, drawing her cutlass.

"Fine by me."

And, with these words, they two women charged the closest pirate, a bald broad-shouldered brute with a little silver hoop in one ear who was about to plunge his cutlass into the chest of the villager he'd flung to the ground. Isabella's blade intercepted his and pushed it aside, a kick to his gut sent him stumbling back... right into Meg's knife, which slipped between his ribs and pierced his heart. He crumpled to the ground with a pained gasp and didn't move again.

Minutes blended into each other as they fought and killed among fleeing townspeople, Meg surprising Isabella by her nimbleness and her quick reflexes. Still, the barmaid wasn't an experienced fighter and she received a couple of shallow cuts when she tried to take advantage of what she erroneously thought were openings. Isabella had gotten rid of her shackles by flinging them around the throat of a pirate she had caught chasing some unfortunate woman, before running him through. At some point, they found themselves fighting next to a young man armed with a cutlass and a boarding axe—and handling himself quite well, Isabella noticed. Then she and Meg moved away to take care of a pirate who was busy trying to torch a house, and she didn't see him again until much later. Cannonballs hit the town only rarely, now, from which Isabella deduced that the ship was concentrating its fire on Fort Charles. At least they wouldn't have to worry about falling rubble so much.

When the fighting brought them to the edge of the town, near the beach, the Brine-Tongue took Meg on a detour to the bridge under which she was supposed to meet Jack, but her friend wasn't there. Worry tied reef knots in her guts, the dull ache dampening the thrill of the fight that skittered along her nerves like sparks. She hadn't seen him anywhere in the streets, but then, she'd been slightly busy, so she might have missed him... Maybe it wasn't midnight yet. _Oh, who am I fooling? He's not coming._ She could just _feel_ it.

"What if he's been caught and imprisoned?" Meg questioned.

Her tone was laced with concern, because she already knew the answer and she didn't like the idea of Isabella walking right into the lion's den one bit.

"Then I'll get him out," the pirate replied with finality.

Not tonight, though. Firstly, she wouldn't venture into Fort Charles without being absolutely sure of Jack's capture. Secondly, searching the fort while volleys of cannonballs hammered at it would be utterly stupid. It wasn't as if they could sail away now, anyway. Besides, once the pirates were gone, Commodore Norrington would have better things to do than hanging a pirate, and he would need his men for more important tasks than guarding a prison. If she was clever about it, she'd manage to slip in unnoticed. Maybe she could steal a red coat off a soldier's body...

The two women made their back into town to continue fighting. The first pirate they stumbled upon as he came out of a house with a small cask in his arms, almost right under their noses, was... a bald broad-shouldered man with a little silver hoop in one ear. The familiar sight stopped them dead in their tracks and they stared in confusion at the pirate, who froze when he spotted them standing in his way.

"Didn't I kill him?" Meg wondered aloud.

"You stuck a knife in his heart," Isabella confirmed, eyeing the pirate warily.

The latter stretched his lips into something that could only be called a smile if you considered that a shark showing its teeth was smiling.

"Ye pox-ridden wenches took me by surprise last time," he growled as he put his booty down and drew his cutlass. "That's not goin' to happen again."

Isabella lifted her cutlass, ready to fight. This time, she'd cut his head off and see if he could still rise from the dead after that.

"Then come and get us, you scabby, fish-kissing wretch."

The pirate charged at her, his sword arcing downward only to tip sideways at the last moment into a backhanded slash that would have cut Isabella's stomach open if she hadn't jumped back. She parried his next strike, riposted, and her blade traced a long red line across his chest. The pirate flinched back, grunting in pain, and Meg took this opportunity to attack but he was faster than her—his fist slammed into her cheek, sending her crashing to the ground with a sharp cry. Isabella moved to use his brief distraction to her advantage. At that very moment, the moon showed itself through a gap in the clouds and poured its wan light onto the town.

Isabella froze with a horrified gasp; a stab of pain shot through her chest when her heart banged against her ribs before crawling up her throat, as if trying to find a way of escape.

A few screams of terror pierced the air, one of them coming from Meg.

It was as if the moonlight had stripped the flesh off the pirate's bones, turning him into a skeleton dressed in tattered clothes, with only a few shreds of grey decaying skin still clinging to his skull and his rib cage.

It certainly explained why a knife through the heart hadn't killed him—he was already dead. All at once, Isabella remembered Jack telling her about Barbossa's mutiny and, more to the point, what had brought it on. A chest full of gold coins given to Cortès by the Aztec people, allegedly cursed by the Aztec gods so that anyone who took even one coin would be punished for eternity... unless they returned the coin and paid the gods back in blood. Neither Jack nor Barbossa had believed the story but Isabella was in a particularly good position to know that there were superior powers at work in the world. She would bet her life that those pirates were none other than Barbossa's crew, cursed for stealing the treasure.

And then, it hit her like a spanker boom across the face. _Dio mio! Aztec gold coins– that strange medallion of Elizabeth's! That's why they're here!_

Taking advantage of her state of shock, the pirate lunged at her. Her training was the only thing that saved her life. Without thinking, she spun out of his way and stuck out her foot. The pirate tripped, fell on his hands and knees... and quite literally lost his head when Isabella's cutlass severed it neatly from his body. The Brine-Tongue took care to promptly kick it away from him. A wise precaution, too, because, this time, he didn't bother playing dead and kept moving. More specifically, he stumbled around with outstretched arms and groping hands in search of his head, which was shouting directions from somewhere off to the side in an effort to guide him to itself. For a few moments, Isabella couldn't take her eyes off the grotesque sight, her lips twisted in an incredulous grimace and a slightly hysterical laugh bubbling in her throat. Then she remembered Meg. Her searching gaze quickly found the barmaid still sitting on the ground and staring at the skeletal headless pirate with a look of utter revulsion on her face.

"What kind of demon is he?" she hissed as Isabella helped her to her feet.

"Oh, he's no demon. He's just a pirate who stole the wrong treasure. He's under a curse," the Brine-Tongue clarified at Meg's questioning glance. "The whole crew is. Which means that we didn't actually kill anyone tonight."

"So what do we do now?"

Isabella didn't have to think about it for more than a few moments. There really was only one thing to do—making sure that Barbossa got what he wanted in Port Royal, namely Elizabeth's medallion, so he could leave and break the curse, which would make him and his crew a lot easier to kill. Therefore, she had to find Elizabeth.

"Do you know where the governor lives?" she asked Meg.

"In a mansion just outside the town," the barmaid answered with a quizzical look. "Why?"

"I'll explain on the way. Unless this," the Brine-Tongue gestured at the headless pirate, who was still fumbling around for his head, "has made you reconsider fighting."

Meg closed her eyes, took in a long steadying breath, and exhaled slowly. When she opened her eyes again, her fear was contained behind a hard veneer of determination.

"I'm ready," she said.

"Va bene." Isabella picked up the headless pirate's cutlass and handed it to Meg. "If we have to fight, don't get too close. Let me handle the decapitating. Use that to cut off their sword hands if you can but be careful—you're not used to the weight, which means you won't be as fast as you were with your knife."

"Understood," Meg replied with a nod, dropping her knife and gripping the cutlass firmly.

"Bene. Let's go."

Isabella and Meg had only walked a few steps when the moon disappeared again. They froze. Looked at each other. And resolved by tacit agreement not to even glance behind them before going on their way. They quickly noticed that the streets had been abandoned to the pirates, who were now mostly busy carrying off their loot; the townspeople, Isabella supposed, were either dead or hiding. A good thing, that—she was getting tired and wanted to avoid fighting unless absolutely necessary.

She got her wish, but not in the way she had expected.

A cannonball, the last one that the _Black Pearl_ would fire at the town, wooshed straight over the two women's heads and slammed into the facade of the house they were just passing. The deafening noise forced startled screams from their throats but they had no time to dodge the chunks of brick, plaster, and wood that rained down on them. Pain exploded inside Isabella's skull and her consciousness was snuffed out like a candle flame.

Isabella came to feeling as if a gull were pecking at her head, which wasn't a particularly pleasant sensation. For a few moments, she floundered amidst the pain to recall what had happened, then it came back to her all at once. Making her way to the governor's mansion with Meg. The cannonball. Getting knocked out by falling debris. _Merda,_ she thought sluggishly. _Meg._ She tried to call out her name but all she could manage was an unintelligible groan.

"Bella? Are you awake?"

Meg's voice came from somewhere abover her. _Grazie a Dio, she's still alive._ Judging that the question deserved an articulate answer, she swallowed—it felt like gulping down nails—and gave it a try.

"Yes," she managed to croak.

"Oh, good. You've been out for a bloody long time. I was starting to think you'd never come round."

The idea that she should perhaps try to open her eyes drifted on the surface of her headache for several seconds before she decided to put it into action. She cracked open an eyelid and the daylight stabbed into her brain like a needle. She promptly screwed her eyes shut, cursing silently, and waited a few seconds for the pain to subside. _Wait, daylight? Accidenti... How long have I been unconscious?_ Slowly, she opened her eyes, squinting until she got used to the light. Finally, she saw the dirt street, part of the houses across it, a pair of legs hurrying past her... but everything was rocking like a ship caught in a storm.

"Ugh," she groaned, closing her eyes again.

"Are you all right?"

"Oh, just _fantastic_."

"If it's any consolation, you're not bleeding. I checked. I think you can thank your hat for that."

"What about you?"

"Oh, _I_ was bleeding but not anymore. And I woke up maybe twenty minutes before you did. I must've got hit by something a lot smaller."

Isabella carefully peeked through her lashes and, when she found that, much to her relief, the world had finally gone still, she slowly sat up, gritting her teeth as the aforementioned gull pecked even harder. Meg was sitting cross-legged next to her among the fallen debris, watching her with concern; a large bruise marred her right cheek and her hair hung in matted strands around her tired face. She let Isabella examine the wound at the back of her head without protest and was visibly relieved to learn that it wouldn't require stitches.

"You'll have to wash it, though," the Italian pirate warned her. "And your other wounds, too. They're not serious but better not risk an infection. "Do you remember–"

"Boiled water, wine, and vinegar," Meg cut her off, smiling even as she rolled her eyes. "Yes, I remember."

Isabella gingerly probed the right side of her head with her fingertips and hissed in pain when they met a bump the size of a periwinkle—the sea snail, not the flower. There was indeed no blood, a stroke of luck which, like Meg, she attributed to her hat.

"It was dented but I just... poked it back into shape," Meg specified, handing Isabella her hat.

The felt was a little scuffed but that was the extent of the damage. _Small miracles,_ the Brine-Tongue thought as she put it back on, mindful of her bump. For the first time since she had regained consciousness, she took a good look around. Dawn had come and gone but it was still early in the morning, judging by the pale blue sky. The smell of charred wood hung in the air. In the street, the survivors of the attack were picking up the pieces. Some twenty yards away to their right, four men were busy clearing out the rubble, loading it into a cart drawn by a robust chestnut horse. Across the street, a couple was trying to put a badly damaged little wooden stand back together. People were returning to their homes, exhaustion engraved on their faces; some were wounded—one man was limping badly and had to lean on his wife, another was clutching his bloodied arm to his chest. And, at only a short distance to their left, three corpses—two men and one woman—had been lined up on the side of the street. A young woman was kneeling beside one of the men, her hand laid over his chest and her shoulders shaking with her sobs.

Obviously, the pirates were long gone, which meant that Barbossa had gotten what had brought him to Port Royal. Elizabeth was probably dead, then. Isabella very much doubted that the pirates had bothered to politely ask her for her medallion. After all, the easiest way to rob someone was to kill them first. She felt a pang of regret at that thought—Elizabeth was, what, twenty? Twenty-one? Much too young to die.

Still, the Italian pirate couldn't pretend that the death of the governor's daughter didn't serve her. No doubt Commodore Norrington and Governor Swann would be busy preparing to give chase to the _Black Pearl_. Such an act couldn't remain unpunished, right? Not if Norrington valued his reputation and his job. It was already bad enough that Fort Charles' cannons and garrison had been powerless to repel the attack of _one_ pirate ship... But the bottom line was that they had much bigger fish to fry.

"Right..." Isabella murmured before continuing out loud. "I need to go and see if Jack made it to our meeting point."

Meg pulled a sceptical face.

"That seems unlikely, don't you think?"

"I agree, but I have to be certain."

She got to her feet, not too quickly so her head wouldn't start spinning again, and Meg followed suit.

"Will you be all right?" the barmaid asked while Isabella dusted herself down.

"I have a bad headache and a big bump," the Brine-Tongue said dismissively. "It'll take a lot more than that to stop me from breaking my friend out of prison."

Meg didn't resist when Isabella drew her into what she knew to be a parting embrace, which she returned with equal warmth. She elected not to ask the pirate if she needed her help to free Jack, thinking that it would be very hypocritical of her when firstly, she had no desire to defy the Royal Navy further—it was one thing to hide Isabella, to whom she had owed a life debt, but quite another to risk imprisonment and perhaps even execution for a pirate she barely knew; and secondly, she knew full well that Isabella would refuse her offer for exactly the same reason.

"I wish you a wonderful life," the Italian pirate said earnestly.

"And I wish you luck," Meg replied. "You'll need it."

With these words, they went their separate ways. As she had expected, Isabella didn't find her friend under the bridge. She did, however, see something that confirmed her theory—and her hopes—as to the commodore's current preoccupations: the _Interceptor_ was being prepared for departure.

"Splendido," she sighed, anxiety burrowing into her guts like a shipworm.

Tugging nervously at the brass button strung on a thin gold chain around her neck, she looked up at the massive fort towering over Port Royal and blew out a sharp breath.

"Fort Charles, here I come."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... cut! Well? What did you think? Meg's one tough woman, isn't she? At first, I was going to have Isabella bring her back to the boarding house but she wouldn't hear of it. So, here she is. I don't think we'll be seeing her again, though.
> 
> Yeah, I know, knocking them out is a bit of a cheap trick, but I couldn't have Isabella free Jack before Will talked to him. Speaking of which, the next chapter will mostly be following the movie script. I'm afraid I can't always write completely original chapters...
> 
> You may be wondering what a spanker boom is. Remember the scene aboard the Interceptor when Jack tells Will that his father was a pirate? Well, the boom is that big spar Jack uses to sweep Will off the ship.
> 
> I'll update in a couple of weeks. In the meantime, I'll be eagerly waiting for your comments ;)
> 
> Translation:  
> \- bene = good  
> \- va bene = all right  
> \- merda = shit  
> \- grazie a Dio = thank God  
> \- accidenti = damn it  
> \- splendido = great


	5. Bait and switch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, and welcome to Chapter 5! Thanks for the comments and the kudos, I really appreciate your support!
> 
> Right, so this chapter follows the movie pretty closely. Nothing I can do about that, but the next two chapters are completely, or almost completely in the case of the second one, original. Anyway, I know that the meaning of the phrase 'bait and switch' doesn't exactly match what's happening here... unless you take it literally. They bait Norrington, and then they switch ships :)

Upon consideration, Isabella had foregone wearing a marine's red coat to get into Fort Charles. The risk of being stopped by another soldier or an officer was simply too great. Instead, she had stolen a long dark coat off a corpse and donned it over hers, hiding her distinctive sash and her long dark brown braid at the same time. She was now striding purposefully up the broad well-maintained road that climbed to the fort, her head and her hat angled downward. Her stomach was in knots, her heart was pounding, and her shoulders stiffened with each redcoat who passed her. She was careful to keep looking straight ahead lest her eyes snag on theirs and their attention turn to her. The last thing she wanted was for them to notice that she was a woman, which would inevitably lead to embarrassing questions such as _"Now why is a woman wearing breeches?"_ followed by " _Are you perchance the pirate we failed to capture yesterday?"_

Well, they wouldn't actually ask that second question. No, they'd just escort her to Norrington at gunpoint.

Soon enough, the wall of the fortress was looming over her, the dark mouth of its gate flanked by two square watchtowers. _So far so good,_ she thought while knowing that the most dangerous part was still ahead of her. The distinct and particularly uncomfortable impression that she was sticking her head straight in the lion's mouth strained her nerves as she passed through the shadow under the arched gateway. She came to a small courtyard separated from a larger one by an inner wall pierced by another gateway. Both were teeming with people, mostly soldiers—which meant more opportunities for Isabella to be spotted. Knowing that she couldn't afford to remain still for too long, the pirate stepped to the side, carefully out of the way, and scanned the bustling courtyard in search of any clue as to the location of the prison. Fortunately, after travelling through a gap between two soldiers on horseback, and then the second gateway, her gaze quickly fell upon the wreckage of what had clearly once been the gallows. Reasoning that they would logically have been placed close to the entrance of the prison, she made her way to the central courtyard with the assurance of someone who knew exactly where they were going and had good reasons to go there. She dodged two marines carrying the body of one of their own, skirted a pile of rubble, glanced around the courtyard as she came through the gateway... and almost froze in her tracks, her heart lurching in her chest.

An open gallery ran around the courtyard, except at the back, where a few stairs led to a sort of balcony enclosed by a parapet. Commodore Norrington was standing just on her right, in the gallery, studying the maps laid out on a table in the company of two other Navy officers—including Lieutenant Gillette—and Governor Swann. The two marines who'd been guarding the _Interceptor_ the day before were there too, ready to intercept whoever approached the little group. Isabella didn't think twice about it—if Norrington was on her right, then she was going left. She ducked in the gallery and followed it, praying that the prison was located on this side and that she wouldn't have to go any nearer to the commodore than she already had. Someone somewhere had apparently decided to do her a good turn because she soon reached a heavy wooden door reinforced with iron. She cheered inwardly upon finding it not only unguarded but also unlocked. Behind it was a small guard room at the back of which was a narrow stone staircase leading down into the bowels of the fort. At least, Isabella assumed it was a guard room; there was a small wooden table flanked by two chairs, its surface strewn with playing cards and stained by the ale that had spilled from two overturned tankards. She couldn't find any keys, though, and she muttered a curse. The sinking of the _Rogue_ , the sloop that Jack had bought with stolen money after Barbossa's mutiny, hadn't just destroyed her supply of medicinal herbs but had also deprived her of an excellent set of lockpicks. _Right, find Jack first and the keys later,_ she decided, jogging down the stairs. At the bottom was a long corridor lined with a row of cells; pale daylight streamed in through the barred windows that pierced the back wall of the cells. Jack was lounging on the straw-scattered floor of the cell across from her, the look on his face much too unconcerned to be honest.

"Jack," she said as she walked up to his cell.

At the sound of her voice, the pirate propped himself up on his elbows, his face turning sour.

"What took you so long?" he groused.

"Fighting undead pirates," Isabella deadpanned, her hands on her hips. "I think we can reasonably assume that the Aztec treasure was indeed cursed."

Jack stood up and approached the cell door, against which he leaned sideways, his arms folded.

"I know," he said. "I got visitors last night. Thought this was the armoury."

Isabella snorted in amusement.

"I bet they were disappointed. Now, do you know where the keys are?"

"They went that way," Jack answered, pointing to his left.

His friend raised nonplussed eyebrows.

"The keys have legs?"

"No, the dog that's got the keys does."

Isabella opened her mouth, decided that she had better things to do than speculating on what had possessed Norrington to entrust the prison keys to a dog, and closed it again with a shake of her head.

"Right then," she sighed. "I'll try to find that dog."

She took a few steps down the corridor, only to stop short when the door upstairs was opened vigorously enough to slam against the wall.

"Merda," she hissed, flattening herself against the wall next to the mouth of the stairwell while Jack threw himself on the ground.

She drew her pistol and flipped it so as to grasp it by the barrel, ready to whack whoever was coming on the head with its butt. But, instead of a marine or a Navy officer or even Norrington himself, it was a young brown-haired man who came running down the stairs and marched straight up to Jack's cell. A young man whom she recognized as the one she'd seen fighting Barbossa's pirates with a boarding axe.

"You, Sparrow!" he called out, and Isabella frowned at the undercurrent of urgency in his voice.

"Aye," Jack replied nonchalantly.

"You are familiar with that ship? The _Black Pearl_?"

Since he didn't look hostile, Isabella decided it was high time she made her presence known. She stowed away her pistol and, clearing her throat, she stepped away from her wall. The young man spun around, his hand flying to his cutlass; recognition flashed in his eyes when they fell on Isabella.

"I saw you last night," he remarked without letting go of his cutlass— _Smart_ , Isabella thought. "You were fighting those pirates." He narrowed his eyes warily. "You're a pirate too, aren't you?"

"I'm afraid so. Isabella Sforza, pleased to meet you." The Brine-Tongue pointed her chin at his weapon. "You can relax, I'm not going to hurt you. Not unless you give me a reason to, that is."

The young man hesitated for a moment before letting his arm fall to his side. Isabella nodded and walked past him to lean against the bars of Jack's cell so he could have both pirates in his field of vision. The conversation would be easier that way.

"So, where does it make berth? The _Black Pearl_?" the young man asked while the Brine-Tongue folded her arms and crossed her legs at the ankles.

Jack lifted his head to give his interlocutor a half-amused, half-disbelieving look.

"Where does it make berth? Have you _not_ heard the stories?" He let his head fall back to the ground. "Captain Barbossa and his crew of miscreants," he explained, his hand waving in the air, "sail from the dreaded Isla de Muerta. It's an island that cannot be found _except_ by those who already know where it is."

"Why are you interested in the _Black Pearl_?" Isabella chimed in, her head cocked slightly.

The young man's gaze travelled between the two pirates hesitantly, from which the Brine-Tongue deduced that his reasons were of the personal kind. His next words confirmed it.

"They took Miss Swann."

A surprised _'huh'_ escaped Isabella. _Strange,_ she mused. _I didn't think Barbossa was the type to hold someone to ransom._ Unless—this possibility struck her heart like a flint and sparked a roaring anger—his men had taken Elizabeth for a completely different reason. No woman deserved such fate, and so she decided there and then that she'd help the young man—she really should ask for his name—rescue the governor's daughter, which she was sure was what he had in mind. It seemed that Norrington wasn't the only man to vie for Elizabeth's affections... Jack's voice, or rather what he was saying, snapped her out of her thoughts.

"... you'll have to do it alone, mate–"

"No," Isabella cut him off. She straightened up and turned to level a determined look at her friend. "You do what you like, Jack, but after we get out of here, I'm going to help him."

Jack sat up and regarded her with a kind of resigned exasperation. _'I should've known you were goin' to say that'_ , Isabella translated.

"I'm not leaving a young woman in the hands of those butchers," she rapped out with steel in her voice. "Besides, who knows? We may get an opportunity to take the _Pearl_ back. It would be a shame to miss it, no?"

"Then you'd better find that dog," Jack retorted, clearly unconvinced. "Unless you intend to bash the door open with that hard head of yours."

"I can do it," the young man cut in as Isabella glared at Jack. "I can open the door."

"How's that? The key's run off," Jack snarked.

"I helped build these cells," the young man explained with an appraising glance at the door. "These are half-pin barrel hinges." He picked up the long bench placed against the wall behind him and levered it at the bottom of the door. "With the right leverage and the proper application of strength, the door will lift free."

Isabella raised impressed eyebrows and considered their would-be ally with renewed interest. _Resourceful_ , she thought. _A decent fighter, too. Good—he'll pull his weight._

"What's your name?" she asked.

The answer came after a moment's hesitation.

"Will Turner."

"That will be short for William, I imagine," Jack commented. "Good strong name. No doubt named after your father, eh?"

Something in his tone prompted Isabella to direct her attention to him. What she found had her narrow her eyes suspiciously. All these years in his company had very much familiarized her with his manners and, at this moment, he looked a little too casual, as if he was trying to mask his interest in Will's answer. And when the young man confirmed, his face took on an expression that anyone else would have called thoughtful, but Isabella knew him better than that. She recognized what she called the _'now what's the best way I can profit from this?'_ look. That name meant something to him, she realized. His next words turned her suspicion into certainty.

"Well, you two are in luck," Jack said as he got to his feet. "I've changed me mind. Mr. Turner, if you spring me from this cell, my friend and I," he gave Isabella a pointed look, "swear on pain of death we shall take you to the _Black Pearl_ and your bonny lass." He stuck a hand between the bars of the door and held it out for Will to shake. "Do we have an accord?"

Will turned to Isabella, his eyes asking her if she agreed to the terms. When she answered him with a firm nod, he grasped Jack's hand and gave it a resolute shake.

"Agreed."

"Agreed," Jack repeated in a satisfied tone. "Now get me out of here!"

Will pushed down hard on the bench and the door was lifted off its hinges. A hard jerk freed it completely, then he thrust it aside, sending it crashing down on the floor with a resounding clang that made Isabella grimace in displeasure and her heart pick up speed. She tensed up, waiting for the clatter of boot heels in the stairs.

"Hurry," Will urged as Jack stepped out of his cell. "Someone will have heard that."

"Not without my effects."

* * *

By some miracle, their little group didn't have to leg it out of Fort Charles with a troop of marines hot on their heels, waving their rifles and screaming bloody murder. Still, unwilling to tempt fate, they took great care to avoid the soldiers patrolling Port Royal and its surroundings. Thirty tense minutes later, they found refuge under the very bridge where Jack and Isabella were supposed to meet the night before. The two pirates studied the prospect in front of them, weighing their options. The _Interceptor_ and her dock were bustling with activity as the ship was being loaded with supplies in preparation for what Isabella now knew to be a rescue mission, making her impossible to access unnoticed. And as for the warship moored in the bay—the _Dauntless_ , if Isabella had to guess—, she was big, which meant slow, which meant that the lighter, faster brig would catch up with them before they made it to open waters.

"We're going to steal a ship? That ship?" Will's tone left no doubt as to his opinion of such an attempt—that, on the scale of good ideas, it ranked somewhere between swimming with sharks and putting oneself between a thirsty pirate and his bottle of rum.

Unless, Isabella kept pondering, they managed to lure the _Interceptor_ into the bay and its crew off her...

"Commandeer," Jack rectified. "We're going to commandeer that ship. Nautical term."

And what better way to do that, the Italian pirate concluded with a devious smirk, than to steal the _Dauntless_ , or to pretend to? Suddenly, Jack turned around to face Will, the movement interrupting her train of thought.

"One question about your business, boy, or there's no use going. This girl... how far are you willing to go to save her?"

"I'd die for her," Will blurted out fiercely, a flame in his eyes.

Isabella shook her head. _Ragazzo avventato_ ,she sighed mentally. If he kept confusing the willingness to throw his life away with bravery, he really _was_ going to get himself killed, and maybe others—most likely Jack and her—along with him.

"Will, let me tell you a little secret about us women," she said, folding her arms and shifting her weight onto her left leg. "We much prefer men to live for us. So do us all a favour and don't be reckless, d'accordo? I'd rather not die because you're too busy playing the white knight to think rationally. Capisci? Understood?"

Will scowled, annoyed at being lectured like a child, but, since arguing with the pirate would only serve to waste precious time, he nodded sharply.

"Understood."

"Bene."

"Right, here's the plan," Jack cut in before Isabella could be tempted to impart more pearls of wisdom to Will. "We make for the beach and we use one of those fishing boats to get to the _Dauntless_ –"

"But they'll see us," Will cut him off, which earned him an aggravated glare.

"They won't if ya do as I say. Now, the ship'll be guarded so we'll put everyone we find in a longboat–"

"They'll warn Commodore Norrington," Will pointed out.

"That's the whole point," Isabella intervened, preventing Jack from snapping at the young man. "Norrington will catch up with us on the _Interceptor_. All we have to do is to stay out of sight while Norrington and his men board the _Dauntless_ , then we swing onto the _Interceptor_ while their backs are turned, and voilà."

"Izzy, luv, you took the words right out of me mouth," Jack said, grinning widely. "'Course, we'll also have to make sure the _Dauntless_ can't follow us... I'll see what I can do with the tiller ropes."

"It's decided, then... yes? In that case, andiamo!"

The three of them snuck to the nearby beach and, on Jack's instructions, slipped under a rowboat lying upside down on the sand among other fishing boats.

"Patrol coming this way," Jack warned his companions as he joined them in the close fish-smelling dimness. "We'll have to wait for it to pass us."

Fortunately, the boat was long enough that its underside wasn't too cramped, but still. Even the sinking _Jolly Mon_ had been more comfortable. In tense silence, they waited until the drumming of booted feet on the sand came and went. Then, they pushed the boat up with their backs and their hands and, bent double to expose as little of themselves as possible, they waded into the sea. The boat promptly did what was expected of it—its weight kept them underwater while the inside of its hull trapped the air bubble that allowed them to breathe. Still, walking along the bottom of the sea was no easy task. Their whole bodies strained against the water with each step they took, forcing them to a frustratingly slow pace; even breathing took effort because of the water binding their chests. Isabella thanked God for her height—she was only an inch shorter than Jack, which let her keep her head well above the water.

"This is either madness or brilliance," Will commented with a note of wonder in his voice.

"It's remarkable how often those two traits coincide," Jack replied, prompting an amused snort from Isabella.

"Especially when it comes to you, amico mio," the Brine-Tongue said with a wry smile.

Jack flashed her grin over his shoulders. Moments later, a muffled crunch followed by Will's irritated grunt caught Isabella's attention. She glanced behind her and saw the young man scowling at something underwater.

"Something wrong?" she inquired.

"Put my foot into a crab trap," Will grumbled. "Can't get it out."

"Leave it, the rope might come in useful."

As it turned out, Jack also found a purpose for the trap itself, using it to block the rudder chains. And they were indeed very, very glad to have the rope when it came to climbing the rear of the massive warship. Jack was the first to reach the top and carefully peered over the rail; once he had ascertained that the quarter deck was empty, he gestured at his partners in crime to follow him and heaved himself onto the deck. A few moments later, they were all standing aboard the _Dauntless_ , leaning on the rail and trying not to pant too noisily as they worked to catch their breath and waited for the fire in their muscles to die down.

"Ready?" Isabella whispered once the three of them no longer felt as if they'd lose a fight against anything bigger than a lobster.

The two men answered with nods. Jack and Isabella drew their pistols, Will his cutlass, and they silently crept to the stairs that led to the main deck. The voices coming from it told them that Jack had been right to expect guards. For a moment, Isabella worried that they were about to throw themselves straight into the arms of half a dozen marines but it quickly appeared that she didn't have to. Of the seven people on the main deck, only two were marines and one was a Navy officer—the Italian pirate recognized Lieutenant Gillette. The others were unarmed sailors, unless a mop could be considered a weapon. The pirates' unexpected appearance startled them but their surprise didn't give way to fear—only mild confusion, even though Isabella's pistol was cocked and pointed at them.

"Everyone stay calm!" Jack commanded as he waltzed down the stairs, closely followed by Isabella, while Will leapt over the bannister. "We are taking over the ship."

"Aye! Avast!" Will barked, his cutlass raised, clearly going for _'menacing'_ but ending up closer to _'overzealous puppy'_.

The men burst out laughing while Isabella grimaced in second-hand embarrassment and Jack gave the young man a _'don't ever do that again'_ look.

"This ship cannot be crewed by three people," the lieutenant pointed out, his tone a mixture of condescension and smugness that made Isabella want to punch him in the mouth. "You'll never make it out of the bay."

With a smirk, Jack aimed his pistol squarely at Gillette's nose and cocked it, the sharp little click snapping the threat home. Suddenly, the Navy officer didn't look so confident.

"Son... I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."

"And I," Isabella went on with a charming smile, her pistol still firmly levelled at one of the soldiers, "am Captain Isabella Sforza. Chiaro?"

At gunpoint, they had the men lower one of the longboats into the water and pile onto it. Predictably, they wasted no time in heading for the docks. Of course, Isabella, Jack, and Will couldn't just stand there like lemons. They had to make whoever would come running—most likely Norrington—believe that they really intended to make off aboard the _Dauntless_. With that in mind, they set about unfurling the sails, the two pirates taking this opportunity to teach Will the names of the sails and lines, and also a few things about the proper way to work them. While they didn't bother rushing about, they didn't exactly take their time either... Wouldn't want the commodore to smell a rat.

They didn't have to keep up the pretence for very long. Maybe ten minutes after the crew had been kicked out, Isabella and Will were standing in the bow, the former explaining to the latter how to raise the jib while keeping an eye on the crew's longboat, when the sails of the _Interceptor_ were unfurled. They quickly filled out and the brig cut through the water towards them.

"Ah, the game's afoot," Isabella commented with satisfaction. "Come on, Will."

They hurried back to Jack, who was waiting by the wheel.

"Here they come," Will told him.

The two pirates exchanged devious smiles.

"Everyone to the bow," Jack instructed, flapping his hands at them in a shooing motion.

They took advantage of the substantial girth of the foremast and hid behind it while the _Interceptor_ swiftly came alongside the dreadnought. Grappling hooks were thrown, the two ships were drawn together, marines and sailors swarmed and swung across. A gangplank was set up for the commodore, who strode aboard ordering his men to search the ship. As the last soldiers left the _Interceptor_ , Isabella, Jack, and Will scurried to the starboard bow and climbed on the rail. By tacit agreement, Jack put an arm around Isabella's waist while she threw one of hers across his back to grasp his shoulder; they grabbed hold of a dangling line with their free hands and launched themselves over, Will close behind. They let go once they were above the forecastle and landed deftly. The alarm had yet to be raised but, since someone on the _Dauntless_ might catch sight of them at any second, there was no time to lose. With a few strokes of Will's boarding axe, Jack cut the lines that tethered the two ships together while Will and Isabella raised the foresail. The light brig moved away, causing the gangplank to slip with a very audible clatter and fall into the sea. Isabella saw Norrington turn around, his face as stiff as a wooden mask, and shout something that prompted his men to scramble back to the starboard side. But the distance between the two ships was already too great.

"Oh, that's a bad idea," Isabella commented with an amused smile when a sailor grasped a rope anyway and swung across, only to splash into the sea with a startled cry.

"Thank you, Commodore, for getting us ready to make way!" Jack shouted from the wheel with a flourish of his hat and a grin on his face. "We'd have had a hard time of it by ourselves!"

Isabella's soaring, vibrant laughter was cut short by shots fired by the angry marines stuck on the _Dauntless_ , forcing the trio to take cover for a few seconds. The cannons had been run out, Isabella noticed when she straightened up, but it didn't matter. Thanks to Jack's sabotage, not to mention the wind a quarter astern, the warship would never be able to get close enough to fire at them, let alone give chase to them. Her face lit up by an elated grin, she watched the _Dauntless_ shrink in the distance as the _Interceptor_ glided out of the bay and into the open sea.

They were free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what do you think? At first, I was going to have Jack introduce Isabella ("... and she's Captain Isabella Sforza. Savvy?) but she's perfectly capable of speaking for herself. So I had to find the Italian equivalent of 'savvy' ^^ On another note, the differences in Izzy's and Jack's characters are starting to show: the former isn't nearly as self-interested as the latter, though she's no paladin. There'll be another example of that in the next chapter.
> 
> Just in case you're curious, Isabella is 5'8'' (1m73). Oh, and I am planning to give you a detailed description of her but I want to write it from James' point of view, so you're going to have to wait four, maybe five chapters.
> 
> Let me know what you think of the chapter and of story so far! And if you have any questions, I'll be happy to aswer them.
> 
> Translation:  
> \- merda = shit  
> \- ragazzo avventato = rash/impetuous boy  
> \- d'accordo? = all right?/agreed?  
> \- capisci? = understood? (litterally: do you understand?)  
> \- bene = good  
> \- amico mio = my friend  
> \- andiamo = let's go  
> \- chiaro? = (is that) clear?


	6. Three is company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry I'm a week late but, with all the festivities, I didn't get much writing done ;) Anyway, thank you to all those who commented and left kudos!
> 
> So, this chapter is almost completely original. There's not much action but a lot of talking ;) I'm basically laying the foundation for Isabella and Will's friendship. You'll also get a few details about Isabella's past.
> 
> And without further ado, I'll let you read the story.

A few minutes into the journey, after making a few adjustments to the sails, Isabella took it upon herself to check over the stores and the powder magazine. If they didn't have enough food or water, they'd have to buy more in Tortuga... Same for the powder and the cannonballs, although she fervently hoped that it wouldn't come to a battle between the _Black Pearl_ and the _I_ _nterceptor_. And if it did, she pondered, their only chance of survival would be to disable the _Pearl_ so they could escape, preferably before the unkillable pirates boarded the _Interceptor_.

Satisfied with her inspection, she took some cheese and dried meat and two loaves of bread from the stores and went back to the quarterdeck. Much to her surprise, she found Will clinging for dear life to the spanker boom, which Jack had swung around so it now extended over the water. A loop of rope was holding the wheel in place while Jack talked to Will, the young man's sword in his hand. One foot on the deck and the other on the stair below, Isabella took in the sight with a mixture of perplexity and mild exasperation— _Men... Can't even leave them alone for twenty minutes_ —,her eyebrows raised and her lips parted.

"Now, me, for example, I can let you drown," Jack was saying. "But then Izzy would be as cross as two sticks with me and I can't have that."

"Wise decision," the Brine-Tongue chimed in, walking up to the case that housed the wheel's barrel and setting the food on it.

She grasped the rope and raised questioning eyebrows at her friend.

"Lesson over?"

"We'll see."

Isabella took that as a go-ahead, removed the rope, and swung Will back on board, the rough landing forcing a grunt from the young man. Jack calmly pointed the cutlass at him.

"So, can you sail under the command of a pirate..." Jack flipped the sabre and, holding it by its blade, offered it to Will. "Or can you not?"

Will took the weapon hesitantly and looked up at the pirate.

"Tortuga?"

Jack grinned while Isabella pulled a disgusted face.

"Tortuga."

"Would anyone like to tell me what happened?" Isabella inquired dryly as Will got to his feet and Jack took back the wheel.

She listened to her friend's story about Will's pirate father, Bootstrap Bill, one hand playing thoughtfully with her button pendant and the other cupping her elbow. Was that why Jack had decided to help Will, she wondered? Because he had known and liked his father? Unlikely. That calculating look she knew so well... No, there was something else, and she firmly intended to worm it out of him.

"Did you know him? My father?" Will asked her, interrupting her train of thought.

"'Fraid not," she said with a small shrug. "Or if I met him, I don't remember." She waited for the young man to nod in acknowledgement before continuing. "And now, let's eat before we keel over."

No one discussed the order. In fact, the two men swooped down on the food with such ravening enthusiasm that, for a moment, Isabella wondered whether she had brought enough of it.

"So, how are the stores?" Jack inquired, his mouth full of bread.

Isabella swallowed her mouthful of meat before speaking.

"Not too bad. We've got dried meat, bread, cheese, peas, some rum, plenty of water. We might want to buy some fresh fruits, though, and maybe some oatmeal. There should be enough gunpowder but it seems they hadn't finished loading the cannonballs, so we'll have to get more. Although, I suggest we do our best to avoid a battle against the Pearl."

Jack hummed in agreement as he stuffed a piece of cheese into his mouth. They ate in silence after that, which was probably for the best as the contents of Jack's mouth interested his friend only very mildly. A few minutes later, there was nothing left but crumbs. Much to Isabella's amusement, Will suddenly gave a huge yawn that almost dislocated his jaw.

"You should go and get some rest," the Italian pirate said. "We won't reach Tortuga before nightfall."

"Suppose I should," the young man mumbled.

With these words, he went down the stairs to the main deck. Isabella brushed the crumbs off the wheel's pedestal and sat down on it, her eyes trained on Jack.

"So," she began as Will disappeared into the hatch that led below decks. "What exactly is it about Will's father that interests you so much?"

Jack remained silent for a few moments, as if carefully considering his answer, which led Isabella to conclude that she wouldn't like it. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"Well, there's only one way to break the curse–"

"It's to return the coins to Isla de Muerta and shed the blood of those who took them. Yes, I remember. And?"

" _And_ , that's where Bootstrap Bill comes in." Jack leaned on the wheel. "See, he was part of me crew when I went lookin' for the treasure. He was also the only one who didn't take part in the mutiny."

"Ah."

"Last I heard, Barbossa had tied him to a cannon and thrown him overboard. Never knew why. But," he lifted a finger, a shrewd smile on his face, "I _do_ know Barbossa did it before he learned that he needed Bootstrap's blood to lift the curse."

That was when it dawned on Isabella. Only her conviction that her friend wouldn't do such a thing when he knew full well how wrong she would consider it inclined her to tamp down a surge of disbelieving anger. She slipped off the wooden case and crossed her arms, fixing a penetrating gaze on Jack, who returned it steadily.

"Are you thinking of trading Will for the _Pearl_?" she asked calmly but in a tone that made it clear he'd better think twice before speaking.

Jack shrugged.

"I would if you and your bloody conscience weren't here."

Isabella tightened her lips but refrained from commenting. She had long since understood that Jack wasn't and never would be much of an altruist. She accepted it readily and didn't judge him for it—God knew she was no saint herself. She didn't usually meddle with his schemes unless they involved both of them, judging that she wasn't responsible for him and his decisions. She had let him toy with Scarlett's and Giselle's feelings, she had helped him steal Anamaria's boat, but this was different. She simply couldn't let him hand over an innocent man to those butchers.

"But since we're here..?" the Brine-Tongue prodded, her eyebrows raised.

"Well, I had to come up with something else. Needs perfecting, though."

"I'm listening."

Over the next twenty minutes, they devised a plan to not only rescue Elizabeth, but also break the curse without sacrificing Will and reclaim the _Black Pearl_. It would, naturally, require a lot of skill but they had plenty of that. A fair amount of luck, too. In fact, its success relied on a few too many _'ifs'_ and _'hopefullys'_ for Isabella's liking, mainly because they had no idea how Barbossa would react or even where he was going—they were hoping his destination was Isla de Muerta, which Jack had explored sometime after Barbossa's mutiny and before he'd met Isabella. Nevertheless, they couldn't think of a better plan for the moment. They would adapt accordingly once they were there. They agreed not to share anything with Will yet. The young man didn't trust them much as it was, if at all; no need to make it worse by telling him that they intended to use him for their own purpose...

"If we get the _Pearl_ , will you keep this one?" Jack asked after a few moments of silence. "Might be useful if you decide to go after your brother."

"I'm not sure," Isabella said thoughtfully, fiddling with her button pendant. "The few times I entertained the possibility, I considered capturing one of the ships that sail under his colours first... A frigate, preferably. And then... I don't know. I didn't plan any further."

She could never muster the courage to. When she opened that door, dark thoughts poured in. Thoughts about her responsibilities that tightened her guts with guilt. Thoughts about killing her brother that closed up her throat and set her heart a-pounding with dread. She heard his laughter as they swung in the rigging as children. She felt the cold steel of his dagger inside her. And saw his russet eyes as hard and dead as stone. Better to keep the door closed, then. Safer. Oh, she knew that she would have to face the music one day or another. Just... later. Yes, later.

"Hm. Well, that frigate wouldn't stand a chance against you, me, and the _Pearl_."

Isabella's smile lit up her eyes as warmth bloomed in her chest and spread through her limbs. No, Jack wasn't an altruistic man, but he made an exception for her.

"No", she said, "it really wouldn't."

After that, the conversation revolved around more innocuous topics. They filled each other in on what had happened to them after they had split up—Jack tried to minimize how close Will had come to defeat him but Isabella wasn't fooled. They discussed how to find a crew—Jack had an idea about that—and the best ways to avoid not only Scarlett and Giselle, but also Anamaria. That was another thing Isabella was grateful for. Jack never pushed her to do her duty and deal with her brother.

"First, it's not my place," he'd said when she had asked him why he didn't. "Secondly, I know you'll do it when you're ready. Might be next week, in two months, a year, or maybe five, but you'll do it."

She also liked that, the rare times when Valerio's name came up in the conversation, he didn't bother walking on eggshells as if he was worried that she'd suddenly go to pieces. She wasn't that fragile. Well, not anymore. There had been a time when she couldn't hear her brother's name without feeling the urge to cover her ears and curl up in a corner. When the only thing keeping her from drinking herself into oblivion was the life debt she owed Jack, which she couldn't repay if she was either blind drunk or sleeping off the booze. But that was over now. She no longer needed every ounce of her will to leave her bed. The world no longer seemed flat and lusterless. She no longer put off going to sleep for a long as she could because then it would be the next day already, and she'd be that much closer to the moment when she would have to face her brother.

The two pirates let Will sleep for three hours. Isabella claimed the next three _"because I spent the night fighting unkillable pirates while you just sat in a cell."_ She found Will fast asleep in the narrow bunk in one of the two little officers' cabins and shook him awake gently.

"It's my turn to sleep," she informed him with a half-smile once his eyes had focused on her.

"Right," the young man said, his voice rough with sleep, as he sat up.

Isabella left the room, deciding to settle in the captain's cabin. She stripped down to her shirt and her black breeches and collapsed on the bed with a groan of relief. Between crossing swords with undead pirates, getting hit on the head by half a house, breaking Jack out of prison, walking underwater, climbing up the massive stern of a man-of-war, and stealing a ship right in front of Commodore Norrington, she felt as dead on her feet as Barbossa's crew.

"That's going to hurt tomorrow," she mumbled into her pillow.

And then she fell asleep. When Jack woke her up, it felt as though it had only been a few seconds since she had closed her eyes. Still, the nap had done her some good, enough for her to resist the siren call of the soft pillow and the comfortable mattress and leave the bed to Jack. She quickly got dressed and went up to the deck, where she found Will at the helm. He stepped aside to let her take the wheel and, as her hands touched the wood and her eyes flew to the horizon, she realized that something about herself had changed. That she felt... She furrowed her brow, carefully listening to the new, tentative cadence of her psyche.

Purposeful.

That was it. For the first time in five years, she had a truly important purpose. Rescuing a young woman, breaking a curse, taking back Jack's ship—it _mattered_ , more than anything she'd done since Valerio had almost killed her. And somehow, that realization felt like a turning point, or like setting foot on the first stone of a new path. The Brine-Tongue took in a deep breath of sea-tanged air and released it slowly. Maybe Jack and Will wouldn't be the only ones to get something out of this adventure of theirs.

"You're not like him... Jack, I mean," Will said suddenly, drawing her out of her musing.

She turned her attention to the young man, who was watching her speculatively.

"Not that I disagree with you, but what makes you say that?"

Will leaned against the rail that ran between the two short staircases leading down to the main deck, to the right of the ship's bell, and folded his arms loosely.

"Back in Fort Charles, you agreed to help me before you knew who I was. Or rather, who my father was."

"Hm. You might call it feminine sympathy. As a woman, I have a more... accurate– _intimate_ understanding of the damage men can inflict on women. Which, believe me, I've seen firsthand. No woman deserves that fate."

Will nodded, his face darkened by the thought of the pirates hurting Elizabeth.

"Well, thank you," he said.

Isabella gave him a lopsided smile.

"Prego—you're welcome." A beat of silence. "Tell me, you're a blacksmith, yes?"

"Technically, I'm still an apprentice but," he rolled his eyes, "I'm the one who does all the work."

Isabella raised her eyebrows inquisitively.

"Oh?"

"Mr. Brown has so much alcohol in his body that he'd go up in flames he got too close to the fire," Will explained with a sarcastic smile. "Besides, it's a little hard to forge anything when you can't see straight."

"I see," the pirate laughed. "And is it Mr. Brown who knocked Jack out?"

"It is. Got all the credit for the capture, too. But, since he probably saved my life, I'm not complaining."

"Oh, Jack wouldn't have killed you. He would have shot you in the shoulder or the leg."

"And that makes him a good man?" Will derided.

"That makes him someone who's not a brute like Barbossa's men," Isabella retorted sharply. "Besides, it might surprise you to learn that being a pirate and being a good person aren't mutually exclusive."

Will didn't look convinced but the Brine-Tongue chose not to insist. That was something he would have to see for himself.

"Anyway," she went on, "I was curious about one thing. How does a blacksmith know the governor's daughter?"

This time, Will's smile was warm and tinged with wistfulness. He told Isabella how his search for his father had led him to a British merchant ship bound for the Caribbean, a ship that had been attacked by pirates during the journey. How he, the only survivor, had been rescued by the crew of the _Dauntless_. He talked about the little girl in a rich gown he'd woken up to and her visits as he recovered. He'd thought she would quickly lose interest in him, that wealthy little girl, but she hadn't—she'd kept coming and they had talked and, when the governor had allowed it, played together. By the time they had landed in Port Royal, they had become friends. Governor Swann had been kind enough to arrange his apprenticeship with the local blacksmith while he and his daughter had taken up residence in a grand mansion, and Will had thought that would never see each other again. She had proven him wrong once more, going to see him whenever she could, sometimes even behind her father's back. It had made him bolder and he had dared to sneak regularly to the servants' entrance. The years had passed in that fashion, their friendship growing...

Will broke off, apparently reluctant to say any more, but Isabella could easily guess what he felt uncomfortable telling her.

"You fell in love with her," she said softly.

The young man gave her a wary glance, as if he was afraid she'd tease him as Jack had.

"Yes," he admitted. "But I'm not naïve enough to think I'll ever marry her. I'm no Commodore Norrington."

"It's funny, I'm not sure what to tell you," Isabella sighed with a wry smile. "On one hand, I've seen enough of the world to know that it's only in tales that common men marry ladies and princesses."

"Tell me something I don't know," Will muttered.

"On the other hand," the pirate went on as if she hadn't been interrupted, "if my travels have taught me anything, it's that people have a way of surprising you. Sometimes... they accomplish things that are supposed to be impossible. Like casting a bridge over the chasm that separates aristocracy from commoners. Of course, those moments are as rare as queen conch pearls."

A mirthless smile stretched Will's lips.

"So what you're telling me is that I do have a chance of marrying Elizabeth... but an insignificant one."

"That's about it."

Will let out a sarcastic snort.

"You have a strange way of cheering people up."

"I'm not one for comforting lies."

The young man hummed in reply but didn't try to continue the conversation. _Then again, that topic must be quite painful to him_ , Isabella mused. She had never been in love herself. Not really, anyway. She had had a couple of passing infatuations during her adolescent years, the longest one with a roguishly handsome Frenchman serving as first mate aboard the _Fancy_ , Capitaine Chevalle's ship, when she was fifteen. Nothing more, though. She had no idea what it felt like to love someone without hope, and no interest in finding out.

"This morning, you called yourself a captain... Why don't you have your own ship?" Will inquired after a few minutes of silence.

Isabella's hand tightened around the wheel's handles until her knuckles turned white while something in her stomach clenched painfully. Phantom fingers dug cruelly into her jaw, forbidding her to turn her head away– _"Watch,"_ a cold voice whispered next to her ear– and a ball of fire tore her brig apart. The Brine-Tongue shook off the memories and loosened her grip on the wheel, forcing herself to focus on the young man who was watching her expectantly.

"I had one, once, but she was destroyed," she said , her voice taut. "She was a brig, like this one, and she was called the _Trickster's Fate_. She was a gift from my parents—they'd captured her from the French Navy. I travelled all around the world with her."

As the northwestern coast of Hispaniola came into view far off the starboard side and the sun descended towards the horizon behind them, Isabella told Will about her travels. She described the canals and the palazzi of Venice, the medina of Salé in Morocco, and the splendors of Constantinople, the Giant's Causeway in Ireland and the valley of the Nile. She spoke of the whirling dervishes she'd seen in Smyrna and the skill of Japanese tattoo artists, of the taste of baklava and Breton buckwheat pancakes and Scotch whisky. She talked until the last fires of the setting sun died down and the lights of Tortuga Port gleamed amidst the dark mass of the island.

"Will you please go and get Jack?" she bade Will. "Oh, and Will?" she added just as the young man was about to go down the stairs. "When we get to Tortuga, don't mention my family name to anyone."

"Why not?" Will questioned, frowning in perplexity.

"Because there are some people who believe me dead and it's best they don't know any better."

The fewer pirates knew that Valerio Sforza's sister was, in fact, still alive, the better—that way, the news was much less likely to reach her brother's ears.

"I see. All right, I won't tell."

"Thank you."

The young man gave her a _'no problem'_ nod and went off. Isabella puffed out her cheeks and exhaled a sharp breath as she stared at the approaching harbour with open distaste, mentally bracing herself for the hole in the world, full of filth and noise and scum, that was Tortuga.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... How was it? I'd like to hear your opinions.
> 
> Of course, Isabella's presence (and morals) will change quite a few things once they get on the Isla de Muerta. I had to come up with a whole new plan of action to 1) rescue Elizabeth, 2) recover the Pearl, and 3) not just hand Will over to Barbossa to be sacrificed. They won't get there until Chapter 8, though. First, there's Tortuga and a nice surprise for Isabella.
> 
> You may be starting to wonder what's up with that button Isabella wears as a pendant. Perhaps some of you have already guessed what it is, if not where it comes from. I'm afraid you'll have to wait a few chapters to find out.
> 
> Drop a comment! It always cheers me up :)
> 
> Translation:  
> \- prego = you're welcome  
> \- palazzi = palaces (singular: palazzo)


End file.
